Under The Table
by Lady Bracknell
Summary: Sirius persuades a reluctant Tonks to take an even more reluctant Remus out for a drink on his birthday. Will there be a spark of something other than mutual annoyance between them?
1. Over The Hill

**Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling. Not even a little bit. Anything you recognise isn't mine.**

**A/N: Well, since it's Remus' birthday, I thought I'd celebrate with a fic about…Remus' birthday. It's a slightly different take on Remus and Tonks than my other fics, and I'm planning on this being pretty short – three or four chapters at most (however, knowing me, that has every chance of turning into a 100 000 word behemoth). Oh, and it's set during OoTP. Enjoy!**

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"Please, Tonks," Sirius said.

"I don't see why I have to," she said, glancing up petulantly at him from the sofa. "How do you know I don't have plans, anyway?"

"Do you?" he said.

"That's not the point," she said, taking her annoyance out on a loose thread on the sofa. "I don't even know him."

"Think of it as an opportunity to get to know him, then," Sirius said.

"He doesn't really seem like my kind of person," she said. "And I think he finds me annoying."

Sirius' lips twitched and he raised an eyebrow at her. "Imagine that," he said. Tonks narrowed her eyes at him.

"He's a bit old fashioned," she said, "and kind of boring."

"He can be surprisingly good company," Sirius said, "when he's in the mood."

"And if he's not in the mood?"

"Then I suppose you'll just sit and glare at each other in uncomfortable silence all night," Sirius said.

The idea of spending the evening with Remus Lupin filled her with a kind of dread. It wasn't that she didn't like him – he was always polite and nice enough – in fact, she supposed that's what it was that filled her with dread. He was always so very nice and so very, achingly polite; not her kind of person at all. And she couldn't think what on earth they'd have to talk about.

Tonks crossed her arms and glowered at Sirius for a minute before relenting in the face of her cousin's puppy dog expression. "Alright," she said, rolling her eyes. "But you're going to owe me big time."

Tonks stomped out of the room, down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Remus was thumbing the pages of a well-worn paperback at the table. "Wotcher," she said.

"Tonks," he said. "I didn't realise you were here."

"Sirius wants me to take you out tonight," she said, ignoring what he'd said, and throwing herself down in a chair to indicate what she thought of the idea.

"There's really no need."

"Well he seems to think there is. Maybe he wants some alone time with Buckbeak. I did try and argue with him. I mean it's not exactly my idea of a fun night either."

"How flattering," he said, his grey eyes flickering up to meet hers for a moment, and then turning back to his book.

She chewed her nails and waited for him to put his book down. He didn't, instead slowly turning a page with a look of intense concentration on his face. "So are we going, then?" she said.

"Charming as your invitation was," he said, "I may have to politely decline."

"What, to spend some more quality time with your old books? 'Cos you never do that. Why does Sirius want me to take you out, anyway?"

"I expect," Remus said, "that he assumes I'd want to go out on my birthday."

"It's your birthday?"

"Yes."

Guilt shot through Tonks like a dose of some particularly nasty potion. She supposed she should do the right thing. "Well come on, then," she said, and she reached across the table and snatched the book out of his hand. He stared at her for a moment, regarding her curiously.

"I don't think so," he said.

"Oh come on," she said. "We'll go to that Muggle pub on the corner. It'll be fun."

"I don't think so," he said. She rested her elbow on the table, put her head on her hand and looked up at him, pouting and doing her very best to be appealing. He looked a little unnerved, and so she stopped.

"I'm not going to take no for an answer," she said.

"I was beginning to suspect as much," he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

"So get your coat," she said.

He stood up as if it was causing him great effort and ran a hand through his hair. "Alright," he said. "But just the one."

"Wow, aren't we in a fun mood," she muttered as she followed him out of the kitchen, rolling her eyes at him behind his back.

"I saw that," he said. She stuck her tongue out at him. "And that," he said. _Eyes in the back of his head now?_ she thought. She made another face. "Tonks," he said, pointing at the wall. "I can see you in the mirror."

She closed her eyes in annoyance at herself for being so childish and stupid. Perfect. Now he'd hate her even more than he already did. She forced herself to open her eyes, and they met his in the reflection. She was startled to see that he was smiling. And he looked almost, well…. She wasn't sure she wanted to finish the thought.

They walked down the road in silence, and when they got to The Red Lion, Tonks had to fight hard to conceal her surprise when he opened the door for her and ushered her into the smoky interior. She wasn't the kind of girl people opened doors for. She was the kind of girl people swore in front of and jostled and treated like one of the lads. And that was how she liked it. This politeness rubbish was just…well, rubbish.

The pub had a worn feel to it, with nicotine yellowed walls, scratched dark wood furniture, and carpet that she suspected was always slightly sticky. It heaved with people, mostly scruffy students and a few locals who didn't even bat an eyelid at her bright green hair or Remus' shabby clothes.

Tonks insisted on buying the drinks, and shooed Remus away to find somewhere to sit. He found a small, deserted table in the corner under a grubby stained-glass window, and plonked himself down, wondering why on earth he'd agreed to this, and what Sirius was playing at. He hoped he wouldn't get back to Grimmauld Place to find Sirius passed out on the floor again, a bottle of Firewhiskey in his hand, as was becoming the norm whenever he left the house for protracted periods.

He looked up from the table to see Tonks making her way through the crowd, a pint of beer in each hand, her tongue gripped between her lips with effort. She made it to the table, and managed to set them down without spilling anything. She looked at him with quiet triumph, and then sat down when it became apparent that he wasn't going to compliment her on her carrying skills. Her knees knocked against his under the table.

"Well, happy birthday," she said, raising her glass at him.

"Thank you," he said, taking a sip and then folding his hands together on the table.

"Cool place this, isn't it?" she said brightly. "I don't get much time to go to Muggle pubs," she said. "But I've always rather liked them, haven't you? They've got a kind of nice dingy quality to them."

"I can't say I've made an extensive enough study to comment," he said, sipping his pint.

He noticed a newspaper rack hanging on the wall next to him, and even though the edition was a day old, he slid a broadsheet out and spread it on the table. "You're going to read that?" she said.

"That was the general idea," he said.

"Why?" she said. He sighed.

"I like to keep up with Muggle events," he said.

"Why?"

"I find it useful."

"Why?"

"It helps to keep things in perspective."

"Why?"

He rested his head on his hand, massaging his eyebrow with his middle finger. "Because," he said eventually, unable to think of anything else. Tonks smirked, and then reached past him for a tabloid paper. She stared down at the front page with disinterest, and then opened it.

"Wowzer," she said, "look at those, and in a newspaper too!" She turned the paper round, shoving the picture of a page three girl at him. "Have you got one in yours as well?"

Remus sighed. All he'd wanted was a quiet night….

"No," he said, turning the page. "I haven't."

"Why do you think they do that?" she said, still staring at the image with a look of concentration and bemusement. He ignored her. "Is it like an advert? Oh look, it says here she's studying to be a lawyer, and she's twenty-three. That's nice. I wonder if there's any more?"

Tonks thumbed through the rest of the paper, screwing her nose up in concentration. Remus took a large gulp of his pint, and tried to read. As soon as he'd got to what seemed like an interesting article, however, Tonks piped up. "Nope," she said. "That's the only one. Funny that. Are you sure you haven't got one in yours? You've been staring at that page for ages."

"I'm trying to read," he said.

"Oh. Right. Gotcha," she said, and she mimed zipping her lips together. Remus turned back to the article. He'd only just made it to the end of the first paragraph when Tonks' knee started jiggling against his under the table. He looked up with a vague scowl. She stopped. He made it halfway through the next paragraph before she started drumming her fingers on the table in a deeply infuriating rhythm.

Defeated, he folded the paper and placed it back in the rack, and she smiled at him across the table. "So how come you and Sirius are friends?" she said.

"What do you mean, how come Sirius and I are friends?"

"I mean you seem so different," she said. "He's so edgy and playful and you're really – "

Remus raised his eyebrows at her, waiting for her to finish. She raised her glass up to her mouth and muttered "boring" into it, her eyes fixed on the table.

Remus suppressed a smile. "I suppose opposites attract," he said, and took a sip of his pint to try and disguise that he was about to break into a grin. She certainly was arresting company.

"I didn't mean boring boring," she said, biting the skin around her fingernails.

"Yes you did," he said. "And it's true," he continued, peering at her from under his raised eyebrows, his chin tilted down so that his hair fell into his eyes. "I am so terribly, frightfully, boring."

She didn't know why, but she suddenly felt like he was making fun of her, as if her accusation had amused him in some way. She couldn't understand why anyone would think being called boring was funny. She bit her lip and peered at him through the faint, smoky haze. She was about to ask him straight out what the joke was, when she changed her mind. "Get anything cool for your birthday?"

"As a matter of fact yes," he said. "A pint of weak beer and a close up look at a woman I've never met's breasts."

Tonks almost laughed, but for some reason she couldn't quite fathom, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing he'd amused her. She brought her hand up to her face and pretended to cough instead. "Nothing else?" she said, leaning on her hand and keeping her mouth covered.

"At my age that's the best you can hope for," he said, and Tonks pressed her clenched fingers into her mouth to stifle her snigger.

He regarded her across the table with an expression akin to someone observing an experiment, as if he was trying to predict what she might do next, or figure out how she worked. It made her extremely nervous, and she wasn't really sure why.

"I wonder why they call this place The Red Lion?" she said, scrabbling around for a question to distract him and finding that that was the best she could come up with. "There've never been any lions round here, have there?"

"Not red ones," he shot back, draining his pint. "Thank you for the drink," he said, "but I'd best be getting back."

He stood up to leave, and she found she didn't want him to go. "You could at least buy me a drink," she said. "I bought you one." He pressed his lips together, and his eyebrow twitched up almost imperceptibly.

"Very well," he said, and made his way over to the bar.

Tonks sat waiting for him, a rather smug expression on her face at the thought that she'd made him do what she wanted and she'd get to talk to him a bit more. The expression quickly disappeared when he returned and placed a single drink on the table in front of her.

She looked at him, and then it, and then him again. "Bottoms up," he said, and walked away, the faintest trace of a mischievous grin playing on his face as he left her alone in a crowded pub with a full pint to drink.

_Git_, she thought, suddenly realising why Sirius and Remus were friends.

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**A/N: Anyone who reviews gets a big slice of super-chocolaty birthday cake, and a werewolf of their choice to share it with.**


	2. Between The Lines

"Oh Mad-Eye no," she said. "Anyone but him."  
"Lupin's a damn fine wizard," Moody replied. "You could learn a lot from him."

Tonks made a noise that sounded very much like 'pfft'. "He was Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts," Moody growled. "The year before I – er – wasn't. Would've made a damn fine Auror, is you ask me."

"But the whole night, Mad-Eye," she said, with a grimace. Moody fixed both of his eyes on her, the magical one shivering slightly in its socket. "Alright," she said, rolling her eyes.

Moody stomped out muttering to himself, and she turned back to the Muggle eye-witness testimonies on sightings of Sirius she was fabricating and glowered at the parchment. Twelve hours, trapped in the undergrowth outside the Malfoy mansion with Remus Lupin. Terrific. The whole night…. She groaned at the thought and head-butted the table.

She was so busy groaning into her report that she didn't even notice Remus come in. "Good evening," he said, and she looked up, startled.

"Have you seen Moody?"

"Yes," he said, crossing the room and studying the bookshelves intently. "I'm very much looking forward to having the pleasure of your company, all night. I can see you're delighted at the prospect of having mine."

She narrowed her eyes at him, unable to tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

He selected a book and, rather than taking it back up to his room as she expected, settled in one of the arm chairs near the fire and thumbed the pages until he found what he was looking for.

She turned back to her report, but after a few minutes of staring blankly at the parchment she realised that she couldn't really concentrate.

"Were you really Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts?" she said.

"Why?" he asked, without looking up. "Do you need help with your homework?"

Tonks glanced down at the pile of papers she was working on, and then back up at him, and scowled. Annoyed that he wasn't even looking at her to notice her scowl, she rolled a spare bit of parchment into a tight ball and flicked it at him, catching him on the temple and ruffling his hair into his eyes. When he didn't flinch, she was mildly impressed. "You do seem the type," she said.

"The type?" he said, raising one eyebrow.

"To be a teacher."

"Let me guess," he said, turning a page, "we're back to me being boring, are we?"

"Not necessarily," she said. "I was just wondering. I was always in trouble at school."

"I'll bet," he said.

She flicked the end of her quill across her fingers for a moment, studying him. She could never quite tell what he was thinking, and she hated it. "I suppose you never got in trouble," she said.

"I never got _caught_," he said, looking up with a slightly mischievous look in his eyes. "There's a difference."

She suppressed a smile with great difficulty. Interesting answer, she thought. She nibbled on her thumb nail, and he turned back to his book. "What kind of thing did you get up to, then?"

"All sorts."

"Prove it," she said. "What's the worst thing you ever did?"

Remus sighed and turned a page, and for a moment she thought he wasn't going to answer. "I lead three other students into performing highly dangerous and advanced, not to mention illegal, magic on themselves, and on one occasion, very nearly killed someone. You?"

He looked up, raising his eyebrows with pleasant inquisitiveness, and Tonks swallowed. She hadn't really been expecting anything like that. "Turned Snape's robes pink, once," she offered feebly.

"I'm sure that was very fetching," he said, "but I always preferred Severus in something lacy, and perhaps wearing a hat with a stuffed vulture on it."

"What?"

Remus offered her just the faintest of half-smiles. "One of my pupils was very afraid of Severus," he said, "and when we covered Boggarts I persuaded him to think of Snape in his grandmother's clothes. The results were slightly more amusing than I anticipated."

"Did Snape find out?"

"Oh yes," Remus said. "It was the talk of the school."

"What did he say?"

"He took it in good humour."

"Really?" she asked, leaning forward, astounded.

"No."

She let out a brief snort of laughter, and his smile widened slightly before he returned to his book. She wanted to talk to him more, but she couldn't think of anything to say, and the longer she left it, the more awkward she thought it would seem.

Reluctantly she turned her attention back to making notes on the sightings of Sirius for her monthly report on his fictional whereabouts. Yorkshire, she thought. Yes, that'd be a likely place for a –

The ball of parchment hit her squarely between the eyes. She looked up at Remus to find him serenely turning the page of his book, not even looking in her direction.

But she knew it was him.

She swallowed the urge to call him a git and suppressed the twitching of a smile on her lips. Maybe spending the night with him wouldn't be so bad after all.

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**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I know this one's shamefully brief, but if anyone fancies leaving a word or two about it, I think there's some birthday cake left….**


	3. Out Of The Woods

**A/N: Just to clear up something from the last chapter. For Valentine, (and anyone else) who was confused about the difference between being in trouble and being caught: it's a play on the difference between being _in trouble_ i.e., having been caught by an authority figure doing something you shouldn't be doing, and _getting into trouble_, i.e., getting yourself into a dangerous situation. So, say if I snuck out of school at night, with my friends, went to the village, got drunk, fell over, broke my leg and got stranded, I'd have gotten myself in trouble (in a dangerous situation), even if I was able to crawl back to school and heal my leg before anyone caught me doing something I shouldn't be. I'd have been in trouble, without being in trouble (i.e., being caught). **

**Re-reading that I think I may have just muddied the waters…. It's probably a good job I didn't take all that careers advice about become an English lecturer.**

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Tonks stalked through the undergrowth to the spot where she was supposed to meet Remus, swearing under her breath and wringing out her soaking robes. Typical. Bloody typical. 

He was there first, of course, leaning on a tree and checking his watch, even though she wasn't late. As she approached he looked up, and his faint smile disappeared as his eyes skirted over her bedraggled appearance. He glanced up through the trees at the cloudless twilight sky in puzzlement, took in her soaking robes once more as if checking that he had seen what he thought he saw, and then offered her a confused frown.

"It was raining in London," she said, avoiding his eyes. She whipped out her wand and started to dry her sleeves. His lips twitched in amusement.

"Did you not think to conjure an umbrella?"

"Does it look like I thought to conjure an umbrella?"

"No," he said. "Silly question. My apologies."

He paused for a moment and thrust his hands into his pockets, not looking remotely sorry. "I thought we'd start with a preliminary sweep and then – "

"So you've decided you're in charge, have you?" she said, cutting him off.

"Not at all," he said, pleasantly. "Just making a suggestion."

"Well," she said, "we'll do a preliminary sweep and then find somewhere with some cover where we can see the front door."

"An excellent suggestion."

"Right," she said, with a growing sense that he was laughing at her. She drew herself up to her full height and mustered every ounce of professionalism she possessed. "Follow me."

She turned and made for a clearing in the trees. Behind her, Remus snorted with laughter. She stopped abruptly and span back to face him. "What?" she said.

"Nothing," he said, avoiding her eyes, a shifty smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"No, what?" she said more insistently, glaring at him with her hands on her hips.

"It's just – " He stepped towards her and plucked something from the back of her head. "You've got the tiniest bit of duck weed in your hair," he said, holding it out for her inspection.

She narrowed her eyes at him and fought, desperately, not to look embarrassed that he'd figured out what she'd done. Bloody duck ponds, coming up on people unexpectedly after they Apparated…. The war not to look embarrassed waged entirely in the muscles of her jaw. She wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of…well, anything. "Easily done," he said, dropping the weed and wiping his fingers. He managed to keep his expression entirely fixed and passive, but his eyes twinkled with amusement.

"Oh bugger off," she said.

Remus made a valiant effort not to laugh, but failed.

They laid the early detection spells on the edge of the undergrowth surrounding the Malfoy property in a rather terse silence, but every now and then Tonks would glance at Remus and just glimpse a smirk on his face that would disappear the instant he realised she was looking. She knew he was picturing her and the duck pond. She boiled with quiet mortification, concentrating fiercely on the task in hand and trying not to think about how much longer they were going to be trapped together. Of all the things she could have done…and in front of him, of all people….

Laying the spells that would hopefully stop them being rumbled or caught unawares took nearly an hour, and then they headed through the trees towards the edges of the Malfoy property. One hour down, she thought glumly, eleven to go.

The boundary of the property was marked by a low brick wall, and they approached cautiously through the undergrowth, even though the house was a considerable distance away. She wasn't even really sure she could call it a house – small castle would have been a better description. The entranceway that they were supposed to be watching was impressive – a massive oak door with a large, blackened iron knocker, nestled in the heart of a central turret. She'd always thought that her relatives were just putting on airs calling it a mansion, but that door said it all. It really was.

Moody's instructions were that they were to note any arrivals or departures and the times – it was rumoured that the Death Eaters were using the Malfoys' social standing to recruit new members, and that tonight they were having a party for just such a purpose. Any new names or faces would be invaluable intelligence.

"Talk about a humble abode," Tonks said, nodding to the Malfoy mansion and tightening her grip on her wand.

"Quite," Remus said. "Have you ever been inside?"

"No," she said. "Why would I have?"

"I thought maybe with you being related," he said, pausing briefly to detach his trouser leg from a bramble.

"Yeah," she said, "but you don't invite the skeletons in the cupboard to dinner." Remus chuckled quietly.

"No," he said. "I suppose you don't."

He stopped on the edge of a clump of trees and she followed suit. "We'd better – " He took Moody's Invisibility Cloak out of his pocket and it fell to the ground, shimmering slightly. He threw it around his shoulders, raised the hood and partially disappeared, gesturing for her to come closer and draping the cloak around her when she did.

It occurred to her suddenly that there was something very odd about being this close to Remus. She felt the urge to say something, to distract her from the idea that she wouldn't feel particularly odd being this close to Moody or Kingsley, but she supposed she knew them, was used to being in rather closer proximity. "I hate these things," she whispered, wondering as she did it why she was whispering. He paused for a moment, waiting for her to arrange herself so that she was completely covered, and then placed a hand gingerly on her shoulder.

"Ready?" he said.

"As I'll ever be," she said, eying her treacherous feet and the silvery material she was bound to trip over or stand on with disdain.

"Lead on," he said.

Manoeuvring through the undergrowth together was as tricky as she expected, and it took them a while to finally get into a position where they had suitable cover to perform the necessary charms that would hopefully keep them safe, and be able to observe their target at the same time. They decided on a partial clearing, a little way back from the low wall and behind an out of control rhododendron bush, and Remus cast a range of spells to camouflage them. They took off the cloak, and she cast a silencing charm so at least they could pass the time talking.

But Remus wasn't exactly easy company. She'd tried small talk, tried talking Order business, and received nothing but stiff, polite answers in return. She was almost starting to yearn for Mad-Eye and his lectures about constant bloody vigilance. She eyed Remus through the encroaching darkness as he leant against a tree, and decided to give it another go.

"What time is this thing supposed to be starting?" she said.

"Nine-ish."

"What time is it now?"

"Seven."

"Oh bloody hell," she said. It was worse than she thought. She'd expected it to be at least eight. "Do you want to play a game or something to pass the time?"

"Why not?" he said, raising an eyebrow at her. "I've always felt that games were an integral part of any covert operation. Quidditch?"

She glared at him, and then sighed. If games were off the cards, there was only one thing for it.

Since their conversation in the library she'd decided that he might be worth getting to know after all, however hard he wanted to make it, and besides, they could hardly stand around in silence all night. "Alright," she said. "Let's talk about you."

Remus shot her a look that said he'd rather dance a tango with a manticore, but she persisted anyway. "Who's your favourite band?"

"I'm pretty sure I haven't got one," he said.

"What's your favourite food?"

He sighed and closed his eyes momentarily. "Tonks, really," he said.

"It's not hard, Remus."

"Chocolate," he said, feeling like he was answering one of the questionnaires foist upon minor Wizarding celebrities in Molly's _Witch Weekly_ magazines.

"Colour?"

"I do prefer it," he said. She rolled her eyes at him.

"What's your favourite colour?"

"I don't know, Tonks," he said, rolling his eyes and them rumpling his brow in confusion. "Blue?"

This wasn't getting them anywhere. She decided to change tack. "If you got really drunk and accidentally slept with someone really ugly – like hag ugly – would you make your escape when they were sleeping and hope you never saw them again, wait 'til they woke up and tell them you had a lovely time so as not to hurt their feelings, or Obliviate them?"

She'd only said it to see if it would make him uncomfortable, and when he frowned rather more in thought than horror she was quite impressed. Remus sighed, rubbing his forehead with his long fingers as he considered her question. "What was the second option?" he asked.

"Wait 'til they wake up and tell them you had a lovely time so as not to hurt their feelings."

"I don't know," he said, folding his arms across his chest and letting out a rather resigned sigh. "That one, probably."

"Really?" she said.

"I don't know, Tonks," he said, his tone a little weary. "I don't tend to go around accidentally sleeping with people, ugly or otherwise."

"But you do go around sleeping with people? You just do it on purpose?"

"As a rule."

"As a rule you go around sleeping with people?"

"No, as a rule if I sleep with someone I tend to do it on purpose," he said, exasperated. He wondered, firstly, why on earth she wanted to know, and secondly if these interrogation skills were something she'd picked up during Auror training.

"Are you sleeping with anyone on purpose at the moment?" she said. He shot her an appalled look. "What?" she said, smiling cheekily.

Remus cleared his throat and straightened up. "Maybe we should split up," he said brightly. "Watch the door from more than one angle."

"You're just saying that because you don't want to talk about your sex-life," she said.

Remus let out a rather annoyed sigh and closed his eyes momentarily before turning away. "Yes," he muttered, as he stomped away through the undergrowth. "I am."

She turned to follow him, getting her foot caught in a root ball and nearly dislocating her ankle. When she finally caught up with him, he looked mildly miffed. "Forgive me," he said, "but I've always been lead to believe that splitting up involved you being in one place and me being somewhere else."

"I'll get bored," she said, with a note of a threat in her voice.

"A risk I think I'm prepared to take," he said. "Do you want the rhododendron, or that thing?"

She looked up and found that Remus was pointing at a large, dark bush just to their left. "That thing," she said miserably, staring desolately at the ground.

"Right," he said, smiling slightly in spite of himself. "Now stay."

He trudged back to the rhododendron, sighing. It rustled as he disappeared behind it.

She let out a rather sulky huff and then moved behind the bush Remus had assigned her, realising too late and in rather a painful way that it had smart, inch long thorns all over it.

She folded her arms and glowered at him, even though she couldn't see where he was.

* * *

Two hours down, ten to go. 

Tonks sat stiffly behind her bush, glowering at the darkness. They'd been there for hours and nothing had happened. Absolutely nothing. Not a dog barking, not a leaf rustling, not even a hedgehog snuffling had disturbed the peaceful spring tranquillity anywhere near the Malfoy mansion, let alone a whole bunch of Death Eaters Apparating to a party.

She lit her wand and gripped it between her knees so the beam wasn't pointing towards the house, and then took a bit of parchment out of her pocket, and fumbled for a biro. She always kept one handy because they were far less inconvenient then quills, although in her hands, just as prone to leaking. She scrawled the words '_I'm bored_' on the parchment, and then sent it sailing to where she knew Remus was sitting.

It landed next to his ankle, but assuming he'd imagined the mild swish of his trouser leg, he ignored it. She huffed when after ten minutes he hadn't replied and whipped out another bit of parchment. _I said, I'm bored_, she wrote, and this time she made sure she aimed it directly at him. She heard his rhododendron rustle, and knew she'd made contact.

Minutes later, the parchment came back:

_Funny, I'm having the time of my life here._

She scowled at it. _You're infuriating,_ she scribbled, on impulse, and sent it back.

_I know,_ came the reply.

Tonks let out an exaggerated breath of disapproval and annoyance. He really was the most infuriating man she'd ever met. He was also the only thing that stood between her and going stir-crazy in the shrubbery. She chewed the end of her biro, wondering what to say next – something that would stop him being infuriating, and her being bored. She shifted her position to consider it, remembering too late that the bush she was hiding behind had smart, inch long, thorns and being rewarded for her forgetfulness with a sharp scrape on her shin. She muttered an ow, and sat straight up, cursing herself for not choosing the rhododendron when Remus had given her the choice. She rubbed at the scrape.

_Do you want to play a game now?_

Surely he must be just as bored as she was. The parchment came back quickly.

_Please, Tonks, don't start asking me about my sex-life again. _

She chuckled. _I've known you for nine months_, she wrote, smirking. _I'm pretty certain you don't have one._

The note came back almost immediately, and a little faster than she'd been expecting. It over-shot, and she had to scrabble in the dirt to retrieve it. It had only two words on it:

_Pot. Kettle._

She was caught between amusement and infuriation. How did he do that? How did he always manage to wrestle back the upper hand?

She sulked for twenty minutes, but in the end her desire not to spend the next nine and a half hours in stony silence overrode any infuriation with Remus, gigantic as it was.

_So do you want to?_ she wrote.

_To what am I agreeing, here?_ he answered.

_A game, _she replied wondering what on earth he thought she meant.

_Of what?_ came the swift reply.

_Since my shrub's thorny, I think strip poker's off the cards,_ she wrote, chewing the end of her biro and trying to think of a game they could play in this rather bizarre situation. _Truth or dare?_

_How do you propose we do the dares without compromising our position? _came the reply. _Are you really proposing a game of truth or truth?_

Tonks chewed the end of her biro and thought about it. _Do you have any better ideas?_ she wrote and tossed the paper to him.

_I'm assuming concentrating on the task in hand isn't an option? _he wrote.

_Truth or truth it is, _she wrote. _We take it in turns to ask each other two questions, and we have to answer one of them truthfully._

She screwed the parchment into a neat-ish ball and lobbed it over to him. She didn't have to wait very long for her reply.

_That sounds like a very silly game, Tonks. I'm in._

It took her a moment to register what he'd written. Then another few moments to wonder what on earth she wanted to ask him. She finally settled on:

_Have you ever had a girlfriend, or is it true that werewolves get horny before the full moon?_

The reply came back: _Yes. _

Damn, she thought, and made a mental note to be more careful with the wording of her questions. She turned to his._ Why are you so interested in my sex-life or what's your real hair like?_

No chance I'm answering the first one, she thought. _Brown and boring, _she wrote. Then stalled on her next question._ Did you kiss her, or what was her name?_

_Yes, I did. Many times. Can you cook, or what's your middle name?_

_I haven't got one. My mother did all the damage she needed with the first one. What was your first kiss like or what was your last kiss like?_

_You're obsessed. It was in the snow, at night, and very romantic. Have you ever thought about a career as a tabloid journalist or what's your favourite sweet?_

Tonks was about to scribble the words 'strawberry sherbets' when it occurred to her that this was ridiculous. She scuttled through the bushes to where Remus was sitting. "This is stupid," she said. "Why don't we just talk to each other?"

"Because – " he started. Then he stopped, without explanation. He'd created some kind of tiny, low-light fire, and the shimmering light just illuminated his features enough for her to make out a look that said he wasn't about to elaborate.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said, smiling pleasantly. "You're right. Have a seat."

He shuffled along on the grass, making room for her to sit down, and she slid onto the grass next to him, rubbing her arms against the chill and watching as the flames in front of them shivered. "Do you promise not to get annoyed with me again?" she said.

"No," he said.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not in the business of making promises I'm not sure I can keep," he said, glancing at her, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Maybe if you promised not to be annoying…."

"I wasn't being annoying," she said petulantly. "I'm just interested. Some people like to take an interest in other people. Those of us who aren't hampered by our arse-aching boringness, at any rate."

"So now I'm arse-achingly boring?" he said, his voice lilting with amusement.

"Yes."

"Which is presumably a good deal more boring than just being boring."

"Yes. By a factor of about ten."

"Right," he said, nodding and smiling to himself.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said. "Just – if I'm so arse-achingly boring, I'm puzzled as to why on earth you would be so keen to talk to me."

She couldn't think of anything to say, so she glared at him. He looked away and his face disappeared into shadow, but she heard him let out a muffled snigger. There was definitely something about the tone of his snigger that gave her the distinct and rather familiar impression that he was making a joke she didn't understand at her expense.

* * *

Two and a half hours down, nine and a half to go. 

"Who was it?" she whispered. "I couldn't quite make them out."

"Rookwood," Remus whispered back. It occurred to her that there was no need for either of them to be whispering. Remus checked his watch, took out a quill and scratched a sentence in a small notebook with a red cover. She craned her neck to see what he'd written, but the page was blank.

"Oh very clever," she said. "Invisible ink?"

"Hardly," he said.

* * *

Two and three quarter hours down, nine and a quarter to go. 

"Bit quiet for a party, isn't it?" she said. Remus rolled his eyes.

"If only," he said.

By the time she had figured out what he meant, the moment to be overtly annoyed about it or offer a witty retort had passed.

She seethed quietly at him. Git.

* * *

Three hours down, nine to go. 

"What do you think Death Eaters do at parties?" she said, eying the house that was now full with Death Eaters they were mostly acquainted with already, their spouses and the odd family member, and a couple of apparent new recruits.

"I think you can file that under things I'd rather not know," Remus said.

"Hmm. I wonder what the food's like?" she said. "Mum always said Narcissa was an appalling cook – I suppose she'd get someone in though, or maybe they've got a new house-elf. It's probably pretty good, I reckon. Slightly better than a buffet." Remus made a non-committal noise, watching the house intently.

"Isn't it odd that they all brought presents?" she said. "It's weird thinking of people like that doing, I don't know, normal things. Although I suppose we don't know what they were. Could've been anything – cheese enchanted to detect blood-traitors, wine that poisons people slowly, snackable petrified hamsters…. I suppose they must have put a lot of thought into it. What to get Malfoy – the Death Eater who has everything. You don't want to make an enemy of him and You-Know-Who just by getting an inappropriate gift." She left a lengthy pause, waiting for Remus to speak. He didn't. "Don't you think?" More silence. "Remus?"

"Undoubtedly Borgin and Burkes has had a bumper weekend," he said.

"So you _were_ listening, then?" she said. "I thought you might have put a silencing charm on me or something."

"Now there's an idea," Remus said quietly, the flash of a smile on his face.

* * *

Three and a half hours down, eight and a half to go. 

"What are we supposed to do now?" she said.

"Wait."

"For what?"

"For whatever happens next," he said. "Or morning."

Or for me to snap and strangle you for being so bloody annoying, she thought. Tonks picked distractedly at a loose thread on her robes, pulling it until the fabric puckered and then eventually a hole appeared. She let out a huff of annoyance at herself for doing it and Remus for not providing her with adequate distractions.

* * *

Four hours down, eight to go. 

"You're going to have to talk to me," she said. He didn't respond. "Nothing fancy," she offered. "I'd settle for a nice chat about the weather."

"I hear it's raining in London."

She scowled at him.

He ignored her.

* * *

Four and a half hours down, seven and a half to go. 

"You know," she said, "I'm going to have to tell Moody that the next time he decides I need some company on a mission, that stuffed owl in Scrimgeour's office will do just as well as you." Remus' eyes flickered in her direction, but he didn't say anything. "Are you sure you don't want to play another game?" she said.

"Yes, thank you."

"What do you want to do instead?"

"Sit here quietly," he said. "Although at the moment that seems something of a pipe dream."

Tonks folded her arms across her chest. "The stuffed owl wouldn't be this much of an arse," she said.

"I doubt it'd play games with you either."

"So you will play a game with me?"

"No," he said.

"Can I have a go at your notebook, then?"

"A go?" he said, eying her quizzically.

"A go at reading it. I'm just interested in what kind of charm you used," she said.

"Alright," he said, and he tossed it to her. "But do try not to, you know, harm it."

She shot him a thunderous look. "I am a professional. What do you think I'm going to do? Accidentally incinerate the evidence?"

The look on his face made her wish she hadn't said that. Evidently that was _exactly_ what he thought she was going to do. "Do your worst," he said, raising his hands defensively, a slight smile on his lips.

Tonks held the notebook in her hands for a minute, considering it, her eyebrows pressed together in concentration. She tapped her wand on one corner. "_Revelo_," she said. Remus watched her evenly. It was more annoying than if he'd outright smirked. "I thought I'd start out easy," she said, and then muttered another couple of spells under her breath. "_Aparecium_," she muttered. Nothing happened.

She shot him a vaguely annoyed look, and tried another couple of spells. Remus continued to look at her with his even grey eyes, seeming simply intrigued to see if she was going to figure it out. A flash of inspiration crossed her mind, and she waved her wand over the page in a low whirl. Nothing happened. She continued to try spell after spell, refusing to give in, and Remus continued to watch her with the same expression of maddening, good-natured, intrigue.

Eventually she sighed and let the notebook fall into her lap. She drummed her fingers on it for a moment, her lips pursed in abject thought. "Alright," she said. "I know you're dying to tell me."

"On the contrary," Remus said. "You were quite close to figuring it out at one point. Please, continue."

She met his eyes. They were smiling slightly. She turned back to the notebook. "It's not something really obvious, is it?" she said.

"A little, perhaps," he said, with a nod of faint amusement.

Tonks drummed her fingers on the notebook again. "_Accio_ ink," she said.

"Very clever," he said, but nothing appeared.

"Go on," she said. "Put me out of my misery."

Remus took the book out of her hands. "I solemnly swear that I am up to note-making," he said, and gave the notebook a soft tap with his wand. It fell open, and Tonks watched, smiling in spite of herself, as writing appeared on the page in a slow trickle. "Schoolboy trick," he said.

"Ingenious. Moody would be impressed," she said.

He tilted his chin down and peered up at her. "Am I to take it, then, that you are not?" he said, raising his eyebrows a fraction.

"No, I am," she said quickly, but as she met his eye she knew he had been joking and felt momentarily foolish for offering such an eager reply.

Remus tapped his notebook with his wand again, muttered a few words she couldn't make out, and the writing disappeared. "What time is it?" she said, forcing the words out against a yawn, and Remus obligingly checked his watch, tilting it towards the fire so he could read it.

"Just after midnight," he said, and cast an eye at the door. Five hours down, she thought. Seven to go.

All things considered, and duck ponds aside, she thought things weren't going too badly. At least they hadn't strangled each other.

* * *

Five and a half hours down, six and a half to go. 

"Are you hungry?" he said.

"Starving."

He rummaged in his pocket for a moment and then pulled something out and tapped it with his wand, where it turned into a neatly wrapped package. He unfurled the foil to reveal a couple of sandwiches and offered her one, and momentarily she wondered if he thought she was stupid for not bringing anything herself. "They're cheese and pickle, and they don't bite," he said, smiling slightly and evidently misinterpreting her hesitation.

"Thanks," she said, taking a sandwich. She peeled the crusts off and ate those first, and Remus watched her curiously for a moment. "They're my favourite bit," she offered in explanation.

"If you'd said," he said, "I would have been only too happy to provide you with sandwiches with a crust and pickle filling instead of cheese."

She couldn't quite decide if he was being funny or making fun of her, and unable to properly read his expression in the darkness, she just chewed thoughtfully. "I brought tea too, if you'd like some," he said, rummaging in his pocket and producing a miniature flask that was soon full-size, and then conjuring a couple of mugs.

"You do like to come prepared," she said, as he tapped his wand on the side of the flask to heat it, and then poured the steaming liquid into one of the mugs and handed it to her.

"This is not my first night sitting in the undergrowth, waiting for Malfoy to make his move," Remus said.

"Oh?" she said. "We're not just here to spot party-guests?"

"Added bonus. He's up to something," Remus said. "Has been for a while."

* * *

Five and three quarter hours down, six and a quarter to go. 

Tonks sipped her tea while Remus polished off his sandwich and then reached for his mug. "Who do you normally sit in the undergrowth with, then?" she said.

"Why?" Remus asked, taking a sip. "Are you jealous?"

"Only if you play games with them."

* * *

Six hours down, six to go. 

Remus leant back on his hands and offered her a look of amused resignation. "What would you like to play?"

"Thumb war?" she offered.

* * *

Six hours, seven minutes down, five hours, fifty-three minutes to go. 

"You let me win that last one," she said.

"Yes."

She was slightly taken aback that he hadn't even put up a token protest. "Why?" she said.

"I thought you deserved to at least win one for effort," he said. "After all, I do have something of an unfair natural advantage."

She was torn between thinking that that was maddeningly annoying, and really rather sweet.

* * *

Six and a half hours down, five and a half hours to go. 

"Can I ask you something?" he said quietly, and she turned towards him expectantly. He regarded her curiously, as if she was a puzzle he was trying to figure out. "Why did you lie?" he said.

"Lie?" she said. "About what?"

"Why didn't you want me to know you'd fallen in the pond?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"If it was," he said, lowering his chin and peering at her with a rather amused expression, "I wouldn't be asking."

She rolled her eyes, more at herself than at him. She looked away into the darkness. She couldn't tell him the truth and have him look at her at the same time. "You already think I'm an idiot," she said. "I suppose I didn't want to give you any more cause."

Remus let out a faint sigh. "You know," he said, "I'd appreciate it if you'd let me earn your low opinion of me rather than just automatically assuming the worst. It's more fun."

"_My_ low opinion of _you_?" she said.

"Yes," he said. "You just assumed that I think you're an idiot, when in fact, I think anything but."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," he said.

"Then why are you always laughing at me?"

"Did it ever occur to you," he said, "that I'm laughing because I think you're funny?"

"No."

"See?" he said, raising an eyebrow at her. "Low opinion."

She shifted uncomfortably on the grass.

* * *

Six and three quarter hours down, five and a quarter to go. 

"What else do you think about me?" she said. He raised an eyebrow at her, and reached for his mug, hiding his grin behind it.

"Now you're just fishing for compliments," he said.

"Am not."

"Are," he said.

"Am not."

"Are."

"Am not."

"Are."

She opened her mouth but was stopped mid-am by the sound of the Malfoy door slamming open and the Lestranges storming out. They Disapparated without saying a word. "Dissention in the ranks," Remus said evenly, picking up his notebook and scribbling in it intently. "Maybe they didn't like the snackable petrified hamsters."

She laughed.

* * *

Seven and a half hours down, four and a half to go. 

"Tell me a story," she said.

"A story?"

"A story about you."

"Does Moody tell you stories?"

"No, but you're not Moody."

"No," he said. "He's far better looking."

"And slightly better tempered."

Remus made a noise of vague protest, and then laughed. "Do you really think I'm funny?" she said. He met her eye briefly and then gazed off into the distance, the faintest trace of what may well have been a grin on his face, had he have allowed it to form.

"Why else would I be laughing?" he said serenely.

* * *

Eight hours down, which meant…how many to go? Oh bugger it, she thought. 

Tonks yawned, realising just how tired she was. She shook her head to try and clear it and stretched. Then she slumped forward onto her knees, and just closed her eyes for a second…..

A voice, hoarse and yet insistent, seemed to be saying something. "Tonks?" the voice said. "Wake up."

Tonks thought that if she ignored it, it'd probably go away. She reached for her blanket and pulled it tighter around her. The only problem was that her pillow appeared to be twitching. And bony. "Tonks."

"Hmmm?" she mumbled, pulling the blanket closer.

"Nymphadora."

The voice sounded amused. It was definitely laughing at her. She opened her eyes and then sat up, coming face to face with Remus. For a second she wondered what he was doing in her bedroom. "What?" she said, drowsily.

"It's morning. You fell asleep."

She took in the daylight, and where she was sitting, and what she was clutching in her hand, and realised that she must have fallen asleep on his shoulder, and that at some point he'd draped his coat around her. Embarrassed, she bundled it into a ball and handed it to him, rubbing her arms against the cold that quickly wrapped its way around her. "Sorry," she said.

"Quite alright."

"No it's not," she said. "I shouldn't've – "

"Has anyone ever told you that you snore?"

"Do not."

"Yes you do," he said. "The ground was shaking, the trees were moving…at first I thought it was an earthquake."

She glared at him. "How long have I been asleep?"

"A few hours."

"You should have woken me up."

"And deprive myself of the pleasure of floating leaves on your snores and tickling you under the chin to see what kind of amusing faces you might pull?" he said.

"You didn't."

"I suppose you'll never know," he said, scrambling to his feet.

Git, she thought, only this time it felt a little bit half-hearted.

"Come on," he said, "let's get out of here." He held out his hands to her, and she took them and let him pull her to her feet. She stamped the feeling back into them.

As they slipped back under the Invisibility Cloak and trudged out of the woods and into the harsh sunlight, she couldn't help thinking that only half-heartedly thinking he was a git was a rather worrying precedent. Especially when it was a lie. She didn't really think he was a git at all. Not any more. Worrying.

* * *

**A/N: Well…. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter.**

**I seem to remember saying that this would be a 3-4 parter, which should make this the penultimate chapter. It isn't. I'm now thinking it's a 6 parter. In case anyone was wondering.**

**Onto the bribery: for anyone who reviews, I've got some limp cheese and pickle sandwiches and weak, cold tea…. What's that? You'd rather have a deep and meaningful conversation with Remus late at night in the undergrowth? Well, alright then. ; )**


	4. Out Of The Question

"What do you think of Tonks?" Sirius said.

"Don't start," Remus replied, not even bothering to look up from his book.

"Start what?" Sirius returned. "It was a simple enough question."

"As far as you're concerned, no question involving a person of the opposite sex is simple," he said. "I remember all too well the Celestia Fox incident. That all started with a simple 'what do you think of Celestia?' and escalated into a full-on project for you and James to get the two of us together."

"It was for your own good," Sirius said. "And you did fancy her, didn't you?"

Remus sighed, defeated, realising that he'd picked a bad example. "I think Tonks is a valuable asset to the Order," he said.

"And you fancy her."

"No, I don't."

"You think I don't know you well enough to know when you fancy someone?"

Remus turned a page, even though he hadn't finished reading it. The last thing he needed was for one of Sirius' questions to put ideas in his head, especially when the ideas were already there; perhaps not fully-formed and definitely not well thought out, but there, nonetheless, in all their ill-conceived vagueness. "I think Azkaban addled your brain," he said.

"Then why do you keep flirting with her?"

"I don't."

"You do."

"I don't."

"Do."

"Don't."

"Do."

Remus sighed, refusing to let things deteriorate further into childishness. He met Sirius' eye. "When?" he said, lifting his eyebrow in challenge.

"All the time," Sirius said, waving vaguely at the table as if it were bedecked with examples. "You're always trying to annoy her."

"I don't try to annoy her," Remus said, turning back to his book. "I just do."

"And for you, that's flirting."

Remus turned another, unread, page with great care. "I'm not flirting with Tonks," he said, measuredly.

For a blissful moment he thought Sirius had believed him. "I've seen the way you look at her," Sirius said, obviously endlessly amused.

"Perhaps you need an eye-test?" Remus suggested. "She's half my age. Just because you have the morals of a randy stoat, it doesn't mean I do too."

"Firstly," Sirius said, indignantly, "I do not have the morals of a randy stoat. You only _think_ I do because you've got the morals of a neutered stoat. Secondly, she's at least three quarters your age."

He should have known Sirius wouldn't leave it. Remus closed his book and smiled at him genially. "Which matters not a jot," he said, "because I don't fancy her."

"That's a shame," Sirius said. "Because she fancies you."

"You're not going to catch me out like that," Remus said. "Not again."

"So there _is_ something to catch you out on?"

"No."

Sirius looked well and truly disappointed. "You used to be a lot more fun," he said.

"You mean I used to be easier to manipulate," Remus said. Sirius grinned.

"Well that too," he said.

The door opened, and Tonks came into the kitchen. Remus thought that Sirius had probably planned the whole thing – her arriving just in time to overhear his accusations and whatever torrid confessions he thought he might have been able to elicit. "Wotcher," she said. She looked from face to face for an explanation for the evidently uneasy quiet, and Remus felt the weight of Sirius' gaze as he watched him.

Escaping seemed the best option. "I think I might take this upstairs," he said, gesturing to his book. He stood up and walked to the door, casting a "don't start" over his shoulder, and giving Sirius a pointed look as he closed the door behind him.

He was barely a pace into the corridor and a quarter of the way through a sigh of relief when Tonks said: "Don't start what?"

Remus sent silent pleas to Sirius not to answer, but, of course, they went unheard. "He fancies you," Sirius said.

Remus opened the door just far enough to get his head through the crack. "No, I don't," he said, and retreated. The door had barely swung closed again when Sirius' voice, laden with palpable smugness, reached him:

"Told you. He fancies you."

Remus sighed and pushed the door open. "No I don't," he said more fervently. "No offence," he added, as an afterthought.

"Why would I be offended?" Tonks said, folding her arms across her chest and glowering at him in a way that made him think that she was probably very offended. "It's not as if I lie awake at night desperately hoping you fancy me."

"Indeed," he said, more to himself than anyone else, and retreated back into the corridor.

"He does," Sirius said.

Remus opened the door and threw his book at Sirius, hitting him squarely on the back of the head. As Sirius' hand came up to meet the point of impact, Remus looked at Tonks and gave her a tight-lipped smile of apology.

"Does that seem like the action of a man not in love to you?" Sirius said, feverishly rubbing the back of his head. Remus massaged his temple, and then strode back into the kitchen. He crouched down to retrieve his book, and then he chose the chair next to Tonks just to prove he didn't fancy her, and, with a sigh, sat down.

"Alright," he said, and Sirius' eyes lit up. "But remember that you did ask for this."

'Ask for what?' Sirius mouthed, but no words came out. He tried again, and then shot Remus an icy stare across the table. He mouthed something that looked very much like 'Oh Moony come on'.

Remus placed his hands on the table, his wand resting lightly between his fingertips. "If you're not going to say anything sensible," he said, "I think it's best you don't say anything at all."

Sirius looked at him imploringly, and when he met only Remus' steely gaze in return, he folded his arms huffily and glowered.

"How long are you going to leave him like that?" Tonks asked.

"He knows the drill," Remus said. "I'll lift it when he promises to behave. Are you going to be good?"

Sirius made a hand gesture across the table that made Tonks snigger. "A little while longer, then," Remus said, stashing his wand back in his pocket. He turned in the chair to face her, thinking that if they were going to be stuck here for a while, they might as well make the best of it. "Could I get you a drink?" he asked. "There's tea or I think some Butterbeer in the cupboard."

"Don't go to any trouble," she said, raising an eyebrow at him. "It's not as if you're trying to impress me or anything."

Conscience pricked, he looked away. He'd assumed that her being genuinely offended or troubled by what he had said about not fancying her was entirely out of the question. Apparently not. "It's no trouble," he said.

"Butterbeer, then."

She met his eye and smiled, and he thought he was probably forgiven. "Sirius?" he said, rising and going over to the pantry. Sirius made another hand gesture. "Very well," he said.

He rummaged through the shelves wondering when everything had got in such a state. He eventually found two bottles, and he opened them, holding one out to Tonks as he dropped back into his seat.

"I take it you've done this to him before," Tonks said as she took the bottle from him.

"At school it was the only way the rest of us could get any peace and quiet," Remus said. "You know what he's like. Nothing but chitter-chatter and idle gossip. And of course all that advice on girls he needed…. " He rolled his eyes for dramatic effect. "It was a constant struggle to find a moment to oneself."

Sirius slapped the table to get their attention and mouthed 'That's not true!', his eyes wide with annoyance. Tonks laughed. "You know, he used to get his girlfriends to do his homework for him," Remus said, pressing his advantage. Sirius stood up and leaned on the table. 'Stop it,' he mouthed, pointing a finger at Remus. "I'm not sure how he persuaded them," he said slowly, enjoying the growing fear in Sirius' eyes and the growing intrigue in Tonks'. "Oh yes," he said, "that's it. He used to – "

Sirius slapped the table again and glared at him. Remus battled his amusement. Rattling Sirius had always been an inordinate amount of fun. 'You wouldn't dare,' he mouthed.

"Wouldn't I?" Remus said. Sirius pursed his lips together in a thoughtful pout, and then sat down, folding his arms and scowling half-heartedly, having apparently, and quite rightly, guessed that indeed, he would dare.

'Alright,' he mouthed.

"Are you sorry?" Remus said, and Sirius nodded reluctantly. "And you promise to be good?" Remus said. Sirius rolled his eyes, and then nodded. Remus took out his wand and pointed it at Sirius' neck.

Sirius' hands rose to his throat and he made an experimental gurgling noise. "That was uncalled for," he said. "I'll get you back, you know."

"I look forward to it," Remus said. "Do you want that Butterbeer now?"

Sirius nodded like a scolded child, and Tonks sniggered at him. Remus retrieved a bottle from the pantry, and handed it to him. "I want to know how he persuaded girls to do his homework for him," Tonks said, leaning forward and waggling her eyebrows at him.

Sirius shot Remus a filthy glance of warning across the table. "Perhaps another time," Remus said, pressing his lips together to try and stop the grin that was forming at the corners of his mouth spreading.

"Over my dead body!" Sirius said. "Don't forget I know all your dirty little secrets too, Moony."

"Sirius," Remus said evenly, "we both know full well that there is nothing in my past that even comes remotely close to being a tenth as embarrassing."

Sirius turned to Tonks and looked her squarely in the eye as he leant on the table. "You know, James and I took all the flak at school for being troublemakers. What no-one realises is that he's –" he pointed at Remus, " – the really devious one."

"Is that right?" she said.

"Yes," he said. He shot Remus a rather sly smile, and then let out the most unconvincing fake yawn Remus had ever seen. "Oh dear," he said, "I appear to be knackered. Think I might have to say goodnight and leave you two alone. I _do_ hope that won't be really uncomfortable and awkward."

He added another fake yawn for good measure, got to his feet, snatched his Butterbeer up from the table, and left.

"What was all that about?" Tonks said.

"Nothing. Azkaban's addled his brain."

"Oh," she said, not looking entirely convinced. She sipped her Butterbeer. "I suppose it's up to you to entertain me, then."

He met Tonks' eye and smiled. "I'd have thought you had quite enough of me and my idea of entertainment the other night."

"If you bore me too much," she said, "I can always go and play with Buckbeak."

He let out a brief breath of laughter, wondering if he really had it in him to be more entertaining than a stroppy hippogriff. He pulled the tatty paperback he had thrown at Sirius back towards him, staring at the synopsis on the back cover and toying with the battered spine. "What were you reading?" Tonks asked, nodding towards the book.

"_Jane Eyre_," he said.

"What's it about?"

"Robots."

"Really?"

"No."

As her expression turned from one of amused and rather hopeful interest to one of slack-jawed irritation, he wondered if he'd ever get tired of that game. He didn't really know why it amused him so much to give her daft answers to perfectly innocent questions. He supposed it had something to do with the fact that she always believed him, no matter how ridiculous his answer, and he hoped she always would.

"What's it about really?" she said.

And, of course, irritated as she might get, she always forgave him his teasing, which he couldn't help finding endlessly endearing. "A lot of things," he said. "Mostly, it's a love story and a mystery."

Tonks leaned forward inquisitively, evidently not satisfied with his answer, and so he continued. "It's about a woman who grows up in an orphanage and then becomes a governess," he said. "She goes to work for a man called Mr Rochester, and she falls in love with him."

"That sounds a bit girly," she said. He chuckled, liking the way she always said exactly what she thought and could usually be relied upon to get to the heart of the matter.

"Yes," he said, sipping his Butterbeer. "I suppose the way I described it, it does."

"But it's not?"

"Not really," he said. "Even though he's in love with her, Mr Rochester is a bit of a git to poor Jane – " He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. All of a sudden, it all somehow seemed a little too close to home, and he rued not picking up Frankenstein instead. " – and he has a secret, which she eventually uncovers, and it breaks her heart."

"Is it any good?"

"Mmm."

"Would I like it?"

"That depends entirely, I suspect, on what kind of books you like. What do you normally read?"

She picked at the skin around her nails and smiled at him awkwardly. "I'm not really much of a reader," she said, almost apologetically. "Not these days – too busy most of the time, too busy trying to catch up on some sleep the rest of it."

"Yes," he said, smiling, "I had noticed your tendency to drop off at a moment's notice when not provided with adequate distractions."

"I was tired," she grumbled. "And if you hadn't let me use you as a pillow or covered me up I never would have got comfortable and slept so long."

"I see," he said. "Next time I'll keep my chivalry to myself."

"How about just your coat and your shoulders?" she said, and he laughed.

"Well," he said, sliding the book towards her, "maybe if you get a moment between naps, you can skim through the first chapter and see what you think – whether it's too girly for me or not."

"But you're reading it," she said.

"I've read it before," he said. "Many times."

She pulled the book towards her and smiled cheekily at him, her dark eyes sparkling. "Do you always read such girly books?"

"Yes," he said, stifling a laugh. "I much prefer bodices to robots."

He took a sip of his Butterbeer, and she waited just long enough before she said: "I thought you didn't want to talk about your sex-life?"

He suspected she got what she was going for. He dissolved into a bizarre cross between a choking fit and indignant protest, and she let out a peel of rather raucous laughter, clapping her hands together in glee as he coughed.

When he'd recovered enough, he glared at her half-heartedly, and she looked away, smirking. He noticed their empty bottles. "Would you like another drink?" he asked.

"Are you going to try and make me choke on it?"

"No," he said. "I would never be that childish."

"Alright, then," she said. He got up and rummaged in the disastrous shambles of a pantry until he found what he was looking for.

He emerged a moment later, and handed her one of the bottles. She eyed it suspiciously. "You haven't shaken this or anything, have you?"

"What's the matter?" he said. "Don't you trust me?"

"Any particular reason I should?"

"Surely," he said, "a boring man is nothing if not trustworthy. Or at the very least, predictable."

She eyed him and then the bottle, and seemed to come to a decision. She grabbed his off the table, and swapped them, forcing the one she had been holding into his hand. She gave him a falsely sweet smile of triumph and nodded at the bottle he was holding to indicate that he should open it. He did, and when it didn't fizz all over him, she looked vaguely miffed. She reached for hers and opened it.

Her shriek as it spurted into her face seemed genuinely surprised.

He rocked back and forth in his chair, shaking with raspy laughter. The sight of her pink fringe sopping and the foamy liquid dripping from her nose and chin was even more amusing than he anticipated. He clung to the table to steady himself, crying with laughter.

"You bastard!" she shrieked. "How on earth can you possibly have known – "

He wiped the tears from his eyes. Tonks sat, dripping and glaring at him. Which only made him laugh harder. She flicked Butterbeer at him until he stopped laughing, but when he looked up she was grinning at him.

"That was a rotten trick," she said.

"You think?" he said. "I thought it was rather a good one."

"A good one?"

"It's your own fault," he said. "If you'd trusted me, you wouldn't be wet."

"Oh thank you, Professor," she said. "Next time you want to teach me a lesson could we do it in a slightly more orthodox way?"

"No," he said. "Where would be the fun in that?"

As she took out her wand and started drying her T shirt, he conjured a towel for her hair and handed it to her.

"Such a gentleman," she said.

"Quite."

He got up to fetch her another drink. "Oh no," she said, eying the bottle in his extended hand with contempt from underneath her towel. "I'm not falling for that again."

"I wouldn't do it twice."

"Wouldn't you?"

"I think I made my point the first time," he said.

She eyed him cynically, and then took the bottle and opened it, tensing slightly as she did as if she didn't quite trust him not to do it again. "How did you know what I'd do, anyway?" she said, ruffling her now dry hair with her other hand before vanishing the towel.

"That would be telling," he said, suppressing a grin.

They sipped their drinks quietly for a while. "Since you owe me," she said, "can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

For a moment, she seemed to think better of it, but then shook her head slightly and her expression became a good deal more focused and resolved. "Why don't you fancy me?" she said. "I'm very fanciable."

He leant back in his chair and regarded her thoughtfully. He pressed his lips together to stop himself from saying something stupid, knowing that he'd have to chose his words carefully. "I daresay you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he said, watching her reaction carefully.

"You don't think I'm fanciable?"

She was watching him as carefully as he was watching her, and the thought unnerved him a little. He looked away before answering. "I'm sure some people find you very attractive," he said.

"But you're not one of them?"

"I didn't say that."

"Then you do?"

"I didn't say that either," he said.

He met her eye, to find her looking at him as if she was carefully weighing up whether to smile or put her hands around his throat and start squeezing. "So do you fancy me or not?" she said, finally deciding on a smile.

"I believe I made my stance quite plain earlier," he said.

"Yes," she said, "but that was earlier, and you might just have been saying that because Sirius was here."

"Yes," he said, "I might have been."

She let out an amused exasperated sigh, and he couldn't resist pressing things a little further. "Anyway," he said, "I'm far too old for you."

"So you do fancy me, then?" she said.

"I didn't say that," he said. "I said I was too old for you, which I am."

"I don't think so," she said. "And anyway, if you didn't fancy me, you'd have just said so."

Remus smiled to himself. He couldn't fault her logic.

Even though he knew he shouldn't be flirting with Tonks, he really couldn't help it. "Not necessarily," he said, rubbing his chin in an effort to surreptitiously hide his grin behind his hand. "I might have just been being polite."

"You didn't care about being polite earlier."

"And you took that so well," he said, raising an eyebrow at her, "I decided I'd make the same mistake twice."

She folded her arms across her chest, looking every inch the sullen teenager. "Do you ever give anyone a straight answer to anything?"

He couldn't resist it. "Might do," he said. Her eyes flashed but he could tell she was desperately trying not to smile.

"You're infuriating," she said. "If I had something to throw, I'd be throwing it at you right now."

Happy to oblige, Remus gave her a good-natured smile, took out his wand and conjured a pillow. He tossed it to her. She sneered at him, and then whacked him on the head with it.

Having had much worse inflicted on him over the years by infuriated Marauders, he didn't even bother to raise his arms defensively, which she seemed to find absolutely maddening. She whacked him again. "You said you were going to throw it at me, not beat me with it," he said.

"Can we have less of your pedanticness, please?" she said, swatting him with the pillow again and ruffling his hair into his eyes.

He caught the pillow and looked at her over the top of it through his fringe, trying desperately not to smile. "The word," he said slowly, "is '_pedantry'_."

"Gah!"

Her eyes flashed with desperate annoyance and she wrestled the pillow from his grip, and hit him on the head with it, three times, in quick succession. He laughed. So she hit him again. At least that's what he assumed it was for. "Are you quite finished?" he said.

"No," she said. She swatted him on the shoulder another couple of times and then sank back in her chair.

"How about now?"

"Yes," she said. She clutched the pillow to her chest and shot him a sulky glower over the top.

He looked away, aware that if he met her eye he'd be forced to laugh, and somehow he knew she wouldn't take kindly to it. He took a fortifying sip of Butterbeer. "Do you always get this tetchy when people won't say whether or not they fancy you?"

She reached for her own bottle and took a long swig. "I just don't understand why you won't answer the bloody question."

"I did answer the bloody question," he said. "I just didn't give you a yes or no."

She looked as if she was about to hit him again, and when she didn't he was quite surprised. He thought he probably deserved it. "Why won't you?" she said.

The muscles in his cheek twitched, almost against his wishes, pulling his mouth into a half-smile. He thought momentarily, and then leant towards her, keenly aware that he was considerably closer to her than he ever had been before.

"Surely," he said, meeting her eye and studying her gaze for any hint of what she was thinking, "a more interesting question than whether I fancy you or not, is – " he paused, momentarily uncertain about if he really wanted to ask, " – why do you care?"

"I don't."

Her answer was instantaneous, knee-jerk, unconsidered, and consequently told him everything he needed to know. He leant back in his chair. "Then why did you ask?" he said.

Her eyes narrowed shrewdly in realisation and accusation. "You think I fancy you."

"I wouldn't dare to presume any such thing," he said, his lips twitching with amusement. He really hadn't thought he'd been _that_ obvious about it, although she did seem to have a knack for seeing through him every now and then.

"Well I don't," she said.

"I know."

"Good."

Tonks studied the table, one foot jittering against the leg of her chair. "And even if I did," she said, "you shouldn't let your head swell because I'm known for my excessively poor taste in men."

"Right," he said, desperately suppressing a grin.

"So if I did – which I don't – it's not a compliment."

"I'm glad we've sorted that out."

He finished his Butterbeer, and then got to his feet, thinking that a tactical retreat at this point was the best thing for him. "I think I might turn in," he said.

"Oh."

He wondered if she actually sounded disappointed, or if he was imagining it because it was what he wanted to hear. Either way, he thought he should probably leave.

He was almost through the door when she said, rather unexpectedly: "It wouldn't matter if I did, anyway."

He paused and turned back to face her. "Wouldn't it?" he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

"No," she said, "because you're really, really annoying."

Remus grinned. "Why are you smiling?" she said.

"Because you've upgraded me from boring to annoying," he said. "It's progress."

Before she could say anything else, he turned and opened the door. "Goodnight," he said, and stepped into the corridor.

Amazing, he thought, how so much can emerge from one little question.

As he sank onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling, he wondered what on earth he was going to do with the answers.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and apologies for putting so many of you in the mood for a snack with my cheese and pickle sandwiches ; ). Anyone who reviews this one gets a Butterbeer and a pillow fight with their favourite Harry Potter character. **


	5. Under The Influence

Remus looked up when he heard the noise again. He wasn't entirely sure what it was – a shuffling, interspersed with thunks. He'd been hearing it for nearly ten minutes. At first he'd assumed it was Kreacher, and then had put it down to the creaking of the old house as it settled around him, but there had been something more disturbing about the last thunk, as if it was getting closer. He got to his feet, abandoning the book he had been reading unceremoniously on the table, and went to investigate. He drew his wand and opened the kitchen door, and Tonks promptly fell through it, shushing herself and giggling furiously.

For a second he wondered if she'd just tripped, but as Remus regarded her on the floor with an amused smile, and she grinned up at him from his shoes, another, altogether more likely explanation presented itself.

"How nice of you to join me, Tonks," he said, offering her his hand. She struggled onto her knees, using his legs for balance and nearly pulling him down on top of her in the process. He braced himself against the doorframe with one hand, still offering her the other. She stared at his hand for a moment as if she wasn't quite sure what to make of it, and then pulled heavily on it, grabbing him around the waist with the other one and pulling herself to her feet. She slumped against him for a moment, steadying herself, and then moved away. She swayed slightly and squinted at him.

"Wotcher," she said, grinning.

"Tonks – "

She put her finger to his lips and muttered "Shhhhhh", and then clamped her hand over her mouth, and staggered to the table, clinging to it for support.

"I'm going to take a wild stab in the dark and say that you've been drinking," Remus said. He watched for a few moments as she hovered over a chair, going to sit down and then changing her mind at the last minute and clinging tighter to the table, as if she didn't quite trust herself to make the transition from standing to sitting.

He allowed himself a brief chuckle at her expense, and then put his hands on her shoulders and eased her down into the chair.

He crossed the kitchen and took a pint glass off the draining board, filling it with water, and placing it on the table in front of her. "You should drink that," he said. "It'll take the edge off in the morning."

"Edge?" she said, staring straight through him and screwing up her forehead, her eyes glassy and unfocused. He pulled out the chair next to her and sat down, trying not to laugh.

He rested one elbow on the table and leant on his hand, trying to hide his amusement as best as he could behind his fingers. "What are you doing here?" he said softly.

"I went to the pub," she said, slurring her words and gesturing over her shoulder with a loose jerk of her thumb.

"I think we'd established that," he said.

"I only had a little drink," she said, pulling the pint glass towards her and holding it with both hands. She lifted it to her lips and slopped some down her front, missing her mouth completely. She looked down at the wet patch on her T shirt with confusion, wiped at it in annoyance and then took another, more successful, gulp.

He pressed his fingers more firmly against his lips to try to stifle his laugh, thinking what an adorable drunk she made.

"Were you supposed to report something?" he said, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice, and he suspected, not that she would notice, failing. She shook her head violently.

"I went for a little drink with Tim from work, and then I started to feel all funny."

"Funny?"

She rubbed her face with annoyance and then looked at him with a piercing sincerity. "Remus?" she said. "I think I'm rat-faced."

Remus couldn't hold it in. He let out a rather uncharacteristically loud peel of laughter. "What?" she said, slowly drawing her features into an expression of confusion. For a moment he was laughing too hard to answer.

"It's – it's rat-arsed," he said.

"What is?"

"The expression," he said, still chuckling slightly. "It's rat-arsed, not rat-faced."

"Oh."

She sat back in her chair and let out an exaggerated sigh. He rested his head back on his hand and peered at her. "How did you end up here?" he said.

"I couldn't Disapparate," she said, stumbling over the word, "and I couldn't think what to do so I walked here."

"Did you want to see Sirius?" Remus asked, thinking of the other member of the Black clan he'd seen drooling and delirious that evening and what a pair they made.

She pursed her lips in thought. "I don't think so."

"Did you want to see me?" he asked quietly. She bit her lip, and his skin prickled in anticipation of her response.

"I always want to see you. You're like a – like a homing beetle," she said, pointing at him, believing she'd made a valid point, even as she swayed in her seat.

He knew she was drunk and that he shouldn't take anything she said seriously, but he couldn't help smiling. "Right," he said, sitting closer to her and propping her up as she started to slide towards the table. "Do you want to go home now?"

She leant closer to him, clutching his arm and resting her chin on his shoulder, smiling widely. "I think I might need to spend the night," she said. She moved closer, nestling in the crook of his neck, her eyes drifting closed.

"If you tell me where you live, I'll take you home," he said.

"I want to stay," she said, forcing her eyes open, only to have them close again instantly. "With you."

"Why?" he said, and the word was so faint he wondered if she'd even hear it.

She leant back, steadying herself on his shoulder, holding his gaze, and for a moment he was utterly lost in the way her eyes glittered like black diamonds. "I know you think I don't like you," she said, "but I do."

She rolled her eyes, breaking whatever spell she'd apparently had him under. "Or I would if you weren't such a git," she said, poking him in the ribs for emphasis.

"I'm not," he said, chuckling his way through a protest.

"You are."

"Am not," he said, because he couldn't resist it.

"Are."

"Am not."

"Are. If you weren't a git you wouldn't be arguing with me."

He smiled. "Alright," he said. "You're right. I am a git."

She rested her head back on his shoulder. "Can I stay, then?"

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather go home?" She shook her head in answer. "You know," he said, "after the last time you fell asleep on me, you told me that I should keep my shoulders to myself."

"Did I?"

"Hmm."

"Well that was stupid," she said. "You have very comfy shoulders."

"Thank you," he said, smiling. "You're welcome to them any time."

She was quiet for a moment, and then sat up straighter, her nose inches from his. Her eyes roved his face, and he desperately wanted to look away, but daren't. She raised her hand, and when her fingertips came to rest on his temple and then slowly trace their way down his hairline, he was surprised by how gentle they were. "You've got a very nice face, you know," she said. "I bet people don't say that to you very often."

"Almost never," he said. "In fact, I think you might be the first."

Her gaze flickered to his lips, and he figured out a fraction of a second before she started to lean in what she was going to do. He closed his eyes and turned his head just slightly, and when her lips made contact, they found his cheek. She pulled away.

"What?" she said, voice little more than a whisper.

"Tonks," he said quietly. "I'm not about to let you do anything drunk that you wouldn't do sober."

She considered him for a moment, and then dropped her head back onto his shoulder, nestling into the crook of his neck and tickling his skin with her pink hair. "Who says I wouldn't do it sober?"

He let out a soft snort of laughter at her indignant tone. "Well, let's see in the morning, shall we?" he said. He peered down at her and out of the corner of his eye he could just make out her biting her lips against their slight upward curve. A second later he found out why she was smiling, when her fingers came to rest just above his knee and then started making their way up his thigh. "And I'm certainly not going to let you do that," he said, laughing as he stilled her hand with his.

"Spoilsport," she said, giggling.

"Alright," he said before she could say – or do – anything more incriminating. "Let's get you to bed."

Over the last few months, Remus had become quite used to dealing with the inebriated, but as he put his arm round Tonks' waist and lifted her out of her chair, guiding her arm around his shoulder, and they began the long stagger down the hall, he couldn't help thinking that Sirius was considerably more co-operative. Tonks dragged her feet along the floor and kept threatening to topple forwards and deposit them both on the carpet.

He looked up at the two flights of stairs that stood between them and an unoccupied bedroom, and decided to take drastic action. "Do you feel sick?" he asked, wondering how on earth he managed to get himself into these situations. She shook her head, her eyes tightly closed as she clutched the banister to stay upright. He ran a hand over his face and made a decision.

He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. She let out a rather short-lived mini-shriek of surprise, and he tightened his arms round her thighs, feeling her hands scrabble on his shirt for something to hold onto. He expected her to protest, but she didn't, so he set off up the stairs before she changed her mind.

After one flight he'd had enough, and rather than proceeding up the next flight to one of the spare rooms normally reserved for the Weasleys, he opened the door to his own room and plonked her on the bed.

She moaned and rolled onto her side, muttering something about him being a git for making the room wobbly. He looked at her for a moment, desperately fighting the urge to laugh. "Are you going to be alright?" he asked. She hummed in reply. It didn't sound like a commitment either way.

He undid the laces on her boots and slid them off her feet, letting them fall to the floor with a heavy clunk. He draped a spare blanket loosely over her, and moved the waste-paper basket closer to the bed, just in case. She opened her eyes and gazed at him as if she wasn't quite sure he was real. "Get some sleep," he said, and she nodded, pulling the blanket further up to her chin.

For a moment she seemed to be thinking about saying something, but then her eyelids flickered closed. He waited a moment to see if they would open again, and then whispered "goodnight," and went upstairs to one of the bedrooms that had been designated safe for human habitation, or that of teenage boys at least.

After six hours of tossing and turning on a bed that was presumably designed for a man roughly half his size with no feeling in his back, Remus gave up on the idea of sleep and staggered to his feet, rubbing his eyes against the daylight that was streaming through the threadbare curtains. He checked his watch, wondering what time Tonks had to be at work and, rather more warily, if she'd been sick in his bed.

It was nine o'clock. He thought that he should probably wake her up, and went downstairs and made her some strong coffee before climbing the stairs and knocking softly on the door.

No response. He knocked a little louder, and was answered with a groan. "Tonks?" he said. She groaned again.

He opened the door slowly and peered into the room. She was face down on the bed, moaning, his pillow clamped over her head. He couldn't quite think what, but something was very wrong with the picture. His eyes roamed over her naked shoulders…yes, he thought, that's it.

He took in the trail of clothes down one side of the bed, and smiled to himself.

It had been a while since he'd had women's clothes strewn about his bedroom, and he'd forgotten how much he liked it – the sight of unfamiliar garments, tossed aside haphazardly. The bright orange underwear was definitely a first, though, he thought.

"Tonks?" he said, setting the coffee down on his bed-side table. He crouched down next to the bed and touched her lightly on the shoulder, wondering how, when she couldn't even attempt stairs, she'd managed to wriggle out of all of her clothes and climb between his sheets. She moaned again, but crawled out from underneath the pillow and squinted at him anyway.

"What are you doing here?" she said. Her hair was no longer arranged in spikes, but more a kind of pink fluffy mess that he had to fight the urge to reach out and ruffle. Adorable, he thought. She had the remains of some dark make-up around her eyes, which he thought probably should have lessened the effect, but, worryingly, did not.

"You're in my room, Tonks," he said. She rubbed her eyes, making the displaced make-up even more smudged.

"Oh," she said, sitting up and gathering the sheet around her. Then her eyes widened. She peeled the sheet away a little and glanced beneath it, her eyes widening further. "I don't think I've got any clothes on."

"Apparently not," he said, casting his eyes over the trail of discarded clothes on the carpet.

"Did you take them off?" she said, her eyes narrowing in accusation.

"Don't you remember?"

She swallowed. "Not really," she said.

For a second he considered playing some kind of joke on her, but in the end he didn't quite have the heart. "I only took off your boots," he said. "I assume you did the rest after I left."

"So we didn't –" She gestured between them.

"No," he said, raising an eyebrow at her. "But thank you for assuming I'd be utterly forgettable."

She offered him a vague, weary, grimace, and then flopped back down onto the pillows, her hands over her face. He decided to take pity on her. "I made you some coffee," he said, straightening up. "Why don't you drink that and get dressed and I'll see if I can't make you something to eat?"

She lifted one hand away from her face and peered at him with one eye. "I didn't say anything too embarrassing, did I?" she said. "Or – you know – do anything?"

"No," he said, smiling to himself, "you didn't."

He was almost at the door when she asked: "Would you tell me if I had?"

"No," he said, and closed the door, just hearing what he presumed was the sound of a pillow hitting it behind him.

Tonks rested her head on the table and moaned. Remus had made her some toast and insisted that she drink another pint of water, but so far all she'd really done was moan in response. "How are you feeling?" he said, suspecting that he already knew the answer.

"Like someone turned my brain inside out," she said.

"Well I hope you've learnt your lesson," he said.

She raised her head off the table and glared at him. "I'm fine," she said.

"You won't be needing any of this, then?" he said, producing a small brown bottle marked _Henry Horshome's Hangover Cure _from his pocket and waving it at her

"Aww," she said, making a grab for the bottle. "You're a life-saver."

He snatched the bottle away. "I thought you said you were fine?" he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

"I'm not fine, Remus," she said. "I'm dying."

He suppressed a laugh with some effort. "Alright, then," he said, dropping a few drops into her pint of water. "Now drink up."

He watched as she valiantly attempted a large gulp of the potion, and then gagged. "I think I'm going to be sick," she said, but she took another large gulp. Then she laid her head back on the table and moaned.

A few moments later she tentatively raised her head off her arms and looked at him, blinking furiously as the potion took effect. He tried not to smirk. Having been there too many times himself, he felt it would be hypocritical. "Better?" he said, raising his eyebrows at her. She experimentally sat up.

"Yeah," she said. "I think so."

She did look a little perkier. "You know," he said, not even bothering to hide his smirk this time, "if you can't hold your liquor, you probably shouldn't go out drinking on a work night."

"Can't hold my – " she started. "I'd drink you under the table any night of the week."

He answered her with another raise of his eyebrows. "You want me to prove it?" she said.

"I think I saw all the evidence I need to make my mind up on the matter last night," he said. She gave him an indignant glare. "I just hope you learned a valuable lesson about the evils of alcohol."

"Oh shut up," she said, standing up. "Why do you always have to be so bloody sensible?"

"Because," he said, pulling out _The Daily Prophet_ and disappearing behind it, before she could see the amusement he knew was written right across his face, "somebody has to be."

"And it always has to be you, does it?"

He met her eyes briefly and then turned back to his paper. "It does rather seem that way," he said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he said, scanning the lines of print in front of him without taking in a single word. "Just that it's hard to be the sensible one when you're drooling on the table."

"Drooling on the – I wasn't drooling on anything."

"I've got a damp patch on my shirt that says otherwise," he said, attempting to sound utterly bored and distracted.

"What?"

"I suppose you've conveniently forgotten needing to be carried upstairs?"

"I didn't _need_ to be carried upstairs. I just – "

"Let me do it for fun?"

She let out a quick sigh of irritation. "I did not need carrying upstairs."

"Yes, it did seem that way," he said, lazily turning an unread page, "when you were drooling on the table."

"I was not – "

He took a peek at her over the top of his newspaper, and she glared at him, hands on hips, and let out an exasperated sigh. "I don't have time for this now, Remus," she said. "Thanks to you I'm going to be late for work."

"Thanks to me?" he said. "How do you work that out?"

"Would it have killed you to set me an alarm charm?"

"Probably."

He could almost feel the irritation radiating off her, and he wondered if he should tell her that it was having everything but the desired effect. "You're – "

"Infuriating," he said. "I know. It makes a nice change from boring, don't you think?"

Her irritation waned, and she looked at him with unreserved confusion. "I haven't called you boring for ages."

"No," he said, "but you did just call me sensible, which is just a slightly less pejorative way of saying boring."

The irritation was back. "I've got to go," she said.

"I'm sure you have," he said.

"You just think I'm leaving because I don't know what pejorative means," she said, scowling. He pressed his lips together in the effort of not grinning.

"The thought never even crossed my mind."

She folded her arms and glared at him, but he could tell that she was desperately trying not to smile. "You know," she said, "if I die today, it'll all be your fault."

He abandoned the pretence of being engrossed and looked up from the newspaper. "How so?"

"Because if I do die, it'll be because I'm too busy thinking of witty things I wish I'd said to you now, rather than concentrating on a life or death situation."

He smirked and went back to pretend-reading. "Lilies or roses?"

"What?"

"If you die, do you want me to send you lilies or roses?"

"Neither," she said, huffily, clearly infuriated that he wasn't more overtly concerned about her imminent demise. She stuck her jaw out slightly, and then rolled her eyes at him and offered "I like sunflowers."

"Duly noted. Have a nice day. And do try not to die."

"As if you'd care if I did," she muttered.

"Of course I would," he said. "You've still got my copy of _Jane Eyre_."

She offered him one of the slack-jawed glowers he thought she probably saved especially for him before turning on her heel and marching for the door. He felt a sudden and rather acute stab of guilt.

"And I would miss you," he said, quickly. As she turned back to face him, Tonks looked genuinely shocked. He met her eye. "Very much," he added, softly. "So I'd consider it a favour if you didn't get distracted and came back in one piece."

For a second he considered adding a quip about only saying that because he couldn't afford sunflowers, especially extravagant, guilty, funeral sunflowers, but the look in her eyes swallowed his words.

"Oh," she said.

She seemed frozen for a moment, a rather startled expression on her face, only her eyes moving, flickering about the grimy basement and pausing everywhere but his. She bit her lip for a moment, and then came back over to where he was sitting. He neatly folded the newspaper he was holding, and placed it on the table in front of him, not really knowing why he'd done it, even as he did it.

"When I had my head on the table before," she said, "I remembered something about last night."

"What did you remember?"

"That I tried to kiss you," she said. He searched her face for any trace of nervousness, but she was a picture of calm.

"Right."

"And I remembered that you wouldn't let me."

He placed his elbow on the table and covered his mouth with his hand, leaning on it heavily. He offered her a brief nod. "And I was thinking about it," she said, slowly, "and I could only come up with two reasons why you wouldn't."

"Ok," he said, eking the word out for as long as humanely possible.

"Well the first one," she said, "is that you really don't fancy me at all, and you just didn't want me to."

"That would be a reasonable conclusion to draw, given the evidence."

"That's what I thought," she said. She leaned forward slightly, and her dark eyes sparkled, and then narrowed. "But then I thought that the other reason you might not have wanted me to do it was that you _do_ fancy me, and you do want me to kiss you, you'd just rather I was sober and fully in charge of my faculties when I did it."

Under his fingers, his lips twitched into a smile. "Another reasonable conclusion," he said. "Hats off to your deductive powers."

"So which is it?" she said.

He considered her, and the question, for a moment.

And then for another one, during which an ice age seemed to pass.

The more he thought about it, the more there seemed like only one thing he could say. "I thought you said you were going to be late for work?"

* * *

**A/N: ****Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and, truly evil ending aside, I hope you enjoyed this one. Anyone who reviews gets a Remus of their own to look after them when they've had one too many. Cheers! **


	6. Under The Table

"I bought you something," she said.

Remus looked up from his book. Unusually, he hadn't heard Tonks come in, but there she was, shifting from foot to foot, having apparently bought him something. He wondered if it was dragon pox.

He raised his eyebrows at her in question, and she produced a bottle from behind her back and placed it on the table. "It's a peace offering," she said sheepishly.

"A peace offering?" he said, baffled, looking from the bottle to her.

"Well, not a peace offering, I suppose," she said, "more of an apology for kicking you in the shin and calling you an infuriating bastard last week."

"I'd have thought if you were going to apologise for any of your colourful insults, the one about me being me a pathetic, evasive, emotionally-crippled wanker is the more deserving."

"All right – " she said, but before she could get any further, he interrupted.

"Of course, you shouting that I'm more mouse than Marauder was my particular favourite," he said.

She let out an exasperated sigh, and he met her eye and grinned self-consciously, only too aware that in doing so he was letting her know that she was off the hook entirely. She smiled back and straightened up, adopting a look of entirely mock seriousness.

"I apologise for calling you a pathetic, emotion – "

"Evasive," he said. She glowered briefly at his correction, but he could tell she was desperately trying not to laugh.

"I apologise for calling you a pathetic, _evasive_, emotionally-crippled wanker, and an infuriating bastard, and shouting that you're more mouse than Marauder."

"There's really no need," he said.

"Why not?"

He leant back in his chair, surveying her and smiling slightly at the confused look on her face. "Well they're all true," he said. "I am a pathetic, evasive, emotionally-crippled wanker, definitely more mouse than Marauder these days, and probably an infuriating bastard to boot. I'm not sure it's fair to hold a grudge about things that are as obviously true as the fact that my hair's brown."

"All right, then," she said, rolling her eyes at him, and then fixing him with a completely unnecessary look of contrition, "it's mostly an apology for kicking you in the shin."

He let out a soft chuckle. "There's no need," he said quietly. "Really."

She smiled at him, and he found it oddly more unnerving than if she'd glared. He looked away, his eyes flickering to the bottle of clear golden liquid on the table. "What is it, anyway?" he asked, with not a little trepidation.

"Tequila."

"Ah," he said. "How appropriate."

"Is it? Why?"

"Well," he said, "I believe it's the traditional apology gift of the Mexican people."

"Really?" she said, face lighting up.

"No."

Her face slackened into a disappointed glare, and he couldn't resist another chuckle, wondering why he really did never get tired of that game.

"Are we going to have a drink then, or what?" she said, smiling at him to let him know that he was, as always, forgiven for his teasing. He considered it for a minute before turning back to his book, although if someone had put their wand to his head and demanded to know what he was reading on pain of death, he wasn't certain he'd have been able to remember the title.

"I'm not sure that's a very good idea," he said.

"Why not?"

"Because – as you've so kindly pointed out on many occasions – I'm boring. Boring people don't drink tequila."

"They do if they want to convince other people that they were wrong."

"What?" he said, looking up, interest piqued. Tonks' face was sporting a rather teasing smile.

"Think of this as an opportunity to convince me once and for all that you're not as boring as I think you are," she said.

He felt his lips twitch and give him away. He knew he should probably say no, but he knew just as certainly that he wasn't going to.

"Well when you put it like that," he said, and closed his book, stashed it on the hearth and went over to join her at the table.

* * *

_One shot each_

Remus had never had tequila before, but he found it not unpleasant.

Tonks refilled their glasses. "Erm – " he said, not sure if he was putting up a token protest or a real one. She raised her glass to her lips.

"If you don't drink it, you have to do a forfeit," she said.

"What?"

"Drink or forfeit, those are your choices. I thought you understood the rules of the game," she said, lowering her glass again.

"To even have a chance of understanding the rules of the game I suppose I'd need to know that we were playing one," he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

She tutted at him. "All those years as a supposed Marauder and you can't recognise a little drinking game when you see one?" she said. She studied him for a moment, eyes narrowed slightly. "Well, when one of us drinks, the other one drinks," she said, "or you have to do a forfeit. First one under the table loses."

"Ah," he said.

She raised an eyebrow at him. " 'Ah' what?"

"I see."

"You see what?"

"This is how you ended up in my bed with no clothes on."

"No," she said tersely, and drank her shot. "_That _was vodka."

She looked from him to the small, golden liquid-filled glass on the table in front of him, not a small hint of challenge on her face. He eyed the glass too, knowing that if he drank this one he would have effectively accepted her challenge, and probably committed himself to half a bottle of tequila and a night with his head in one of Grimmauld Place's less than salubrious toilets.

All in the name of proving that he wasn't boring, to someone whose opinion on his boringness really shouldn't matter to him in the slightest.

"What kind of forfeits would we be talking about?" he said, leaning on his hand and rubbing his chin as he weighed up the situation he'd managed to get himself in.

"What?"

"Well," he said, waving his hand over the glass in question, "if I'm going to make a truly informed decision about whether I want to drink this or not, I'd like to know what the alternative is."

"All right," she said. She thought about it for a moment, biting her lip a little as she did so. "Either you drink that or you answer my question truthfully, once and for all."

"And what question would that be?" he asked, even though he suspected he already knew the answer.

"Do you fancy me or not?" she said.

He gave her half a smile, and swallowed his drink.

* * *

_Two shots each_

"Don't you think we should slow down?" he said, wiping his fingers on the knee of his trousers after Tonks refilled their glasses and dribbled some on them.

"Do you?" she said.

"Yes."

"Well that's because you're the sensible one," she said.

"I suppose," he said, noting how weary his voice sounded, wondering why he minded the word 'sensible' so much when she said it. It was hardly an accusation he was unaccustomed to hearing, and yet….

"Don't you ever get tired of it?" she said.

"Of what?"

"Of always being so damn sensible – of always being right."

"I'm not always right," he said, steepling his fingers on the table in front of him. "Far from it."

"Give me an example," she said, "of when you've been wrong recently?"

"I've a feeling agreeing to this was very, very wrong," Remus muttered, and Tonks grinned at him rather inexplicably.

"Actually," she said, "I think this is the most right thing you've done since we met."

He smiled back, wondering if she was right.

* * *

_Three shots each_

"I daresay I'll regret this in the morning," Remus said, fingering the freshly re-filled glass in his hand accusingly.

"Sometimes, Remus," Tonks said, leaning forward on the table and peering directly at him, "it's fun to do things you think you might regret in the morning."

* * *

_Four shots each_

Remus was beginning to feel the effects. A kind of warm glow had settled in his stomach, and a fuzziness of thought ebbed through him. He loosened his tie and undid the collar of his shirt, and then elected to take the tie off all together. "Wow," Tonks said, leaning on her hand and staring at him devilishly. "I thought that thing was surgically attached."

Remus closed his eyes for a moment to block out the thought that Tonks was looking at him devilishly. "About these forfeits," he said, desperate for a distraction. "Just for future reference, do they all have to be questions?"

"No," she said. "Dares would be perfectly acceptable."

"What kind of thing are we talking about?"

"Well that would be up to the deviousness and discretion of the setter," she said, twitching her eyebrows at him, "which means that things don't look good for you."

* * *

_Five shots each _

Part of Remus' brain knew that no good would come of this. Unfortunately, a rather different part appeared to be in charge, and it enjoyed Tonks' company, liked teasing her, and enjoyed the way she sometimes teased him back in a way he often thought was tinged with flirtation. Even though the rest of his brain told that part that it had an overactive imagination, it didn't want to listen and was providing increasingly vociferous opposition the more he drank.

"Will you be terribly disappointed if I out drink you and you don't get to have your fun with me?" he said.

"What?" Tonks said, looking up from the fingernail she'd been picking at with an expression of surprise.

"Well you've obviously got a forfeit already planned," he said, spreading his hands across the table. "I'm a little intrigued to see what you've come up with. You've had a while to plot, after all."

"Yes," she said looking rather pleased with herself. "I have."

"So what is it?"

"Oh it's good," she said, grinning and then chuckling quietly to herself.

"Aren't you worried," he said, raising an eyebrow at her, "that I could come up with something fairly devious myself?"

She scoffed. "As if," she said.

"I'm offended," he said, resting his elbow on the table and his chin on the heel of his hand. "I assumed my reputation had preceded me. Apparently not."

"Reputation?" she said. "What reputation?"

"Never mind," he said, and then on impulse, added "maybe I'll show you later."

She looked vaguely intrigued for a minute, but then shook her head and the expression disappeared. "I think I'll take my chances," she said, rather too dismissively for his liking. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"You know, the more you scoff, the more devious I'll be."

"I'm pretty confident in my hollow-legged abilities," she said.

Remus took a long breath in, trying to quash his amusement as he remembered her behaviour the previous week. "I suppose you know that werewolves are quite rarely affected by alcohol," he said. He delivered the line matter-of-factly, even though he could feel the effects seeping into his brain and wasn't sure he'd said the word 'alcohol' correctly.

"But there are exceptions," she said, pointing at him and grinning. "Firewhiskey, for example, is often metabolized faster by werewolves than other people, consequently making them more drunk more quickly."

"Yes," he said, staring ruefully at the table. "I have found that."

"And tequila," she said, "being a Muggle contraption – "

"Concoction," he corrected, laughing. Tonks peered at him from beneath a puzzled frown.

"What did I say?"

"Contraption."

She frowned a little deeper, swaying slightly in her seat and pouting in consternation with herself. "You're adorable when you're drunk," he said, and then joined in with a frown of his own when he realised he'd said it out loud. Tonks grinned.

"I'm adorable all the time, you just haven't noticed," she said. Remus opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. "Anyway," she said. "Where was I?"

"No idea," he said, shaking his head and chuckling to himself.

She let out a long, frustrated, sigh, and then her eyes widened as she remembered. "Oh yes. Tequila. Muggle…thingy. Level playing field. I looked it up."

"Very impressive," he said. "Bottoms up."

* * *

_Six shots each_

"So what happened the last time you had Firewhiskey?" she said.

"I'd rather not talk about it," he said.

"Oh come on," she said. "Don't be such a stick-in-the-mud."

* * *

_Seven shots for Remus, six for Tonks_

"The first time, there may have been dancing," he said. "And some slight stripping."

"You?" she said, eyes wide.

"Yes."

"Stripping?"

"_Slight_ stripping."

"Slight?" she said. "How do you strip slightly?"

He pointed at her untouched drink on the table, and she lifted it to her lips and drank it down. "Someone stopped me before I got too far," he said. "If you want the full story you'll have to ask Sirius," he said, wincing at the images than danced through his mind. "My memory of the details is a little vague."

"Don't think I won't," she said, with a mischievous glint in her eye. "You don't suppose he thought to take any photos?"

Remus distracted himself by pouring them both another drink.

* * *

_Eight shots each_

Tonks leaned forward, resting her head on both of her hands and drumming her fingers on her cheeks. She grinned at him, biting her lip at whatever thought she was having. "How much do I have to make you drink to get you to take your clothes off?" she said, twitching her eyebrows at him suggestively. Remus shot her a warning glare that he was pretty certain had no effect whatsoever. "Twice what you've had now?" she said, eying the bottle with consideration.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Just asking," she said, a slow smile of rather false innocence drawing its way across her mouth.

"You want me to take my clothes off?" he asked cautiously.

"Not necessarily," she said. "I might just have been asking for a general gage of how much fun you're going to be."

"Oh."

She leant back in her chair and stretched, wiggling her shoulders around in their sockets before settling. "I'm going to take your 'oh' – which I felt was ever so slightly tinged with disappointment – as a sign that you want me to want you to take your clothes off, though," she said, leaning forward and grinning at him impishly. "Just so you know."

* * *

_Nine shots for Remus, one for medicinal, shock-relieving, purposes. _

"You didn't even think about taking advantage of me when I was rat-faced, did you?" Tonks said. Remus grinned.

"Are you going to extend me the same courtesy?"

"Probably not."

* * *

_Ten shots for Remus, two for medicinal, shock-relieving, purposes._

"Ooh," Tonks said. "I know what we need."

She took her wand out of her pocket and tapped it lightly on the table. A small salt seller and half a dozen limes appeared, the limes quickly starting to make a bid for the edge of the table until Tonks stood up, swaying slightly, to collect them.

"That's a very odd snack, Tonks," he said. "If you'd said you were hungry – "

"It's a Muggle thing," she said. "You lick the back of your hand – " He watched, fascinated, as she demonstrated. He swallowed. " – then pour salt onto it."

"Why?" he said.

"Just do it," she said, voice equal parts irritation and encouragement. He stared at her. "If you don't, I will."

"Promises, promises," he said, without really thinking.

Tonks gave him a wicked grin. She reached for his hand, having to lean right onto the table to catch it in hers, and raised it to her lips, her eyes never wavering from his. She lowered the tip of her tongue onto the back of his hand, licking it once, lightly. She shook the salt seller over his hand, and then set it back on the table, retreating back into her chair. She considered him for a moment, one eyebrow raised in triumph and the barest hint of a smirk on her lips before she grabbed her wand and performed a slicing spell, dividing one of the limes into four neat wedges and pushing one across the table towards him.

* * *

_Eleven shots for Remus, one with weird lime and salt addition_

"I take it this isn't a game your father taught you?" he said, when he'd recovered from the shock of biting into the lime.

"Oh no," she said. "I went out with this Muggle-born bloke when I was in Auror training. Except we used play another version where we'd put the salt – " Tonks paused, sniggered at either the rather horrified expression he was pulling or the memory, and then shrugged. " – well, other places."

"If I beg, do you promise not to go into more detail?" he said. Tonks gazed at him, her lips pursed and switching from side to side as she took him in.

"Hmm," she said.

"Hmm what?"

"Well, either you're jealous – " Remus shifted in his seat a little as the weight of her stare seemed to increase his body temperature. " – or you really don't like talking about that kind of thing."

"It's definitely the second option," he said.

Then he completely undid his words by laughing.

* * *

_Twelve shots for Remus, two with weird lime and salt additions, one more pleasant than the other owing to a slight confusion with his sequencing._

Remus screwed his eyes shut in a tight grimace. It wasn't nearly as pleasant with the salt last and the lime first as the other way round.

He rested his elbow on the table and leaned on it heavily, propping his head up with his hand. He spent a few moments contemplating how close his face seemed to the table, and then another couple contemplating saying something very, very stupid. "All right," he said. "I'm drunk enough."

Tonks looked at him with glassy incomprehension and he realised that he'd had most of the significant part of the conversation in his own head. "To make up for being a wanker last week," he said, "I thought you could ask me something. Anything."

Tonks narrowed her eyes at him slightly, considering him – scrutinising, he thought. "And you won't be an evasive infuriating bastard?"

He chuckled, running his fingernail along a groove in the table. "I shall try my very best."

Tonks sought his eyes and held his gaze as he looked up. "You know what I'm going to ask," she said.

"Oh, you're not going to ask that," he said, looking away again.

"I'm not?"

"No," he said. "Because the more you persist in wanting to know the answer, the more I think I was right all along about why you want to know, and we both know that you don't want me to think that."

* * *

_Thirteen shots each, three with weird lime and salt additions. _

"You know what I hate about you?" Tonks said, into her lime as she bit it, shaking her head a little at the taste.

"I've been lead to believe there are a great many things," he said.

She let out a frustrated huff, tossing the remains of her slightly chewed lime wedge at him. He ducked, laughing, even though her aim was off and it wouldn't have hit him anyway. It landed with a vague splat on the floor behind him. "Talking to you is like playing chess," she said, letting out a long exasperated, and yet resigned, sigh.

Remus let out a confused chuckle, unable to decide whether that was the thing she hated about him or just an aside. "How so?"

"Well, it's like you're always thinking six moves ahead."

"Am I?"

"I don't see how else you can be doing it," she said.

"Doing what?"

"Doing what you just did," she said, gesturing at him with a wave of irritation. Remus propped his head up with his hand and gazed at her, unable to fully process any particularly cohesive thoughts. Tonks narrowed her eyes at him. "But you know what I've noticed?" she said. He shook his head. "You only do it to me," she said, poking the table for emphasis, and then shaking her hand as if she'd poked a little bit harder than anticipated.

Remus' elbow slipped on the table, dropping him a little closer to the surface. "Do I?" he said, sitting up, attempting to regain his poise.

"Yes," she said. "And I want to know why."

"Maybe I'm just a git."

"You're not," she said fervently, shaking her head to accentuate the point.

He considered his options for a moment. "Maybe I just don't like you very much," he said. He expected her to fly into some kind of rage, but she didn't. She just met his eye, smiling a little.

"We both know that's not true," she said.

He knew she'd rather effectively backed him into a corner, and for a second he tried to come up with some lie, some witty retort, to get out of it, but he found he couldn't really be bothered.

Remus peered at her through his hair. "Maybe," he said, "the only reason I do it to you is because I know that the only reason you're even a little bit interested is that you can't quite figure me out."

A proverb about loose lips and ships sailed through his mind, and he wondered if he hadn't just said far, far too much.

* * *

_Minutes passed in uncomfortable silence: six and a bit._

"Do you really think that?"

"Well," he said, "I've looked at it from a number of angles, and I can't imagine it's anything else."

* * *

_Minutes passed in uncomfortable silence: two and three quarters._

"You think too much," Tonks said.

"Did you ever consider," he said, "that it's not me who thinks too much, but everyone else who thinks too little?"

"No," she said, the word distinctly slurred. She swayed a little in her seat, pointing at him with her empty shot glass. "It's definitely you."

He laughed.

Tonks slumped so far down in her chair that only her shoulders and head were visible above the tabletop, and he wondered if she might slide off the chair entirely. "Do you ever have fun?" she asked, head lolling slightly to one side. Ordinarily he'd have been surprised by her change of direction, her question out of the blue, but he was just relieved that they weren't talking about what they had been talking about any more.

"Of course I do."

"Fun not involving books?"

He glared at her playfully, even though he was desperately battling a grin. "I'm having fun now, actually," he said.

"Really?" she said, her face lighting up. Then she drew her forehead slowly into a frown, held up her hand to stop him replying and shook her head. "No, wait, don't answer that."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want you to do the thing you do – which is dead annoying, by the way – where you say something, and I say 'Really?' and then you say 'No'."

Remus fixed his eyes on the table, tracing the pattern of the grain with his eyes. "I wasn't going to say no," he said quietly.

"Oh."

* * *

_Minutes passed in uncomfortable silence: four and a half._

"You know it's all bollocks, don't you?" Tonks said.

"What?" he said, looking up a little startled. "What is?"

"That the only reason I'm interested is because I can't figure you out."

Remus made a noise of disbelief somewhere in the back of his throat, raising his eyebrows at her as best he could with his drunken facial muscles.

"Because, Professor," she continued, "I know you think you're some big mysterious enigma, but I _can_ figure you out, and I have."

"Really?" he said, rubbing his forehead and slumping down onto his hand.

"Yes. You're not nearly half as complicated as you think you are."

"You think not?"

"No."

"No you don't think not or no you do?"

Her eyebrows darted together and lowered, and she looked at him open-mouthed for a moment. "What?" she said, tilting her head to one side in confusion.

"Nothing," he said, laughing slightly to himself at the look of utter befuddlement on her face. "Never mind. What have you figured out, then?" he said.

"Lots of things," she said, waving his question away. "I've figured out that if I got up and came round to your side of the table you'd completely freak out because you'd think I was going to try and kiss you again. That's why I'm sitting over here. And I've figured out that the reason you won't say whether you fancy me or not is that you do, you just think you're not supposed to or that I wouldn't want you to, or something."

Remus covered his mouth with his hand, smiling into his fingers and breathing heavily against his knuckles. "Very perceptive," he said. "But no."

Tonks' face fell, her forehead creased. "No what?" she said in a voice that was little more than a whisper.

"No I didn't know it was all bollocks."

Tonks' lips curved into a rather enchanting smile that slowly spread up her face until it reached her eyes and then she laughed softly. "Well now you do," she said.

"Yes," he said, quietly, closing his eyes briefly and offering her a small nod. "Now I do."

She was quiet for a minute, and then she leant back in her chair and looked right at him. "Can I ask you another question?" she said.

"Go on," he said, resisting the pedantic impulse to point out that she just had.

"And do you promise not to be all evasive and infuriating about it?"

"I'll try," he said, "although old habits die hard."

She let out a soft breath of laughter. "What are you going to do about it?" she said.

Remus paused, wondering what indeed he was going to do with the new information he had acquired. His eyes drifted over the remaining limes and salt on the table.

He fixed his gaze on hers, and said "Teach me how to play the other version."

* * *

**A/N: So it appears evil cliffies are habit-forming…. I know I said that this would be a 6 parter, and therefore this should be the last one, but it isn't (not least because I suspect that leaving you all hanging would be seriously detrimental to my health). I'm now thinking one or two more, but as you should know by now, my word on these matters means little. ;) **

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter – and for my customary review bribe for this one, what else but a tequila-soaked werewolf up for grabs? **

**Oh, and I've written an alternative take on the end of the last chapter, if anyone fancies it. It's called House of Cards, and I should warn you it's M rated (because Remus is a very naughty boy ;)). **


	7. Looking For Something

Tonks fell off her chair.

Remus assumed it was probably something to do with surprise at what he'd said, although as she disappeared beyond the tabletop and landed with an 'oof', he was too busy trying to stifle a snigger with the palm of his hand to really be certain.

When Tonks didn't re-appear immediately, he ran a hand over his face in a futile attempt to make himself feel a bit more sober, and ducked his head down to make sure she was all right. He found her lying on her back on the floor, staring at the underside of the table and shaking with silent giggles. "Tonks?" he said.

When she didn't reply he slid off his chair, a little less gracefully and more rapidly than he intended, landing painfully on his knees and narrowly missing catching his chin on the table edge.

He crawled towards her, stopping next to her outstretched legs and squinting at her inquisitively, blinking to try and clear his head. "Are you all right?" he said, offering her his hand. She accepted it, and, despite the fact that she seemed altogether too floppy, he pulled her more upright. She collapsed against his shoulder, giggling, her fingers scrabbling against his jumper for something to steady herself on, balling it into her fists. "You know – " he said. He sat up straighter so she didn't pull him down with her, and promptly banged his head on the table. "Oww."

His hand darted up to his head, pressing the point where he'd hit it, trying to mollify the burning pain with his fingertips. He sucked in a breath through his teeth.

"Whatdyoudo?" Tonks said, looking up from his chest. He pointed at his head, and she shuffled a bit closer and took his face in her hands, easing him towards her as she tilted his head down and looked at his crown for a moment. "S'not broken," she said, grinning as she tilted his head back. "You'll live."

"I'm not sure about that," he said, chuckling. "It's been a while since I had this much to drink."

"Feel like you might be on your way to a little dancing?" she said, her mouth quirking into a sly smile. "A little semi-nudity, possibly?"

"I think I can probably contain myself," he said, rubbing his head rather ineffectively.

"Spoilsport," she said, giggling as she dropped her hands heavily into her lap. She let out a long amused sigh.

"What about you?" he asked, smiling at her. "Are you all right? You fell off your chair – I didn't mean to – "

"Well," she said, brow creasing into a rather adorably mock-cross expression, "you can't spend weeks being all evasive and infuriating and then suddenly get all sexy and flirty and not expect me to be a bit startled." She folded her arms across her chest. "Thoughtless of you, really," she added, her words a little slurred, which completely undid any chastening effect her stern tone had, "not to give me some kind of warning."

He pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. "Sorry," he said. "You know, if I'd known you'd be this easy to bowl over – "

Tonks slapped him on the arm, perhaps a little harder and less playfully than she intended, but he couldn't help smiling at the amused infuriation on her face, or the way the sudden movement had caused her to sway quite dramatically and then scrabble to steady herself.

When she had, they glanced at each other briefly, smiling slightly nervously.

"So what do you think?" he asked tentatively, wondering if she'd forgotten what caused her fall in the first place. "Are you going to teach me..?"

Tonks grinned, and summoned the tequila.

* * *

Remus fingered the glass Tonks had just furnished him with. She tutted at the amount she'd spilt on the floor, before vanishing it with a flourish of her wand and looking up. She grinned at him rather impishly, her eyes just a little bit glazed. "It's really _very _simple," she said, her words sliding into one another as she waved a hand vaguely over the salt and limes they'd assembled on the floor between them. She leant a bit further forward, studying his face intently with a playful glint in her eye. "You just need to decide where you want to put the salt," she said, poking him in the chest for emphasis before sitting back on her heels and watching him, giggling quietly to herself.

For a second he contemplated the possibilities. He wasn't entirely sure what the parameters of the game were, what might be allowed. He swallowed. "When you say decide where I want to put the salt," he said slowly, peering at her through the ends of his fringe, "am I deciding where it goes on me, or…."

As he trailed off, unsure he really wanted to finish the thought, let alone the sentence, Tonks' lips drew themselves up into a lopsided, suggestive smile. "_Or_," she said. He swallowed again, and she giggled at him. He smiled and then rolled his eyes at himself for deteriorating so quickly into stuffy old man territory.

A proverb about fortune favouring the brave drifted through his mind, but he wasn't entirely sure he remembered enough of it to pay it any attention. He reached for her hand.

"Remus," she said, scoldingly, "that's really not very – "

She stopped when he turned her hand over and lightly licked the inside of her wrist. As he looked up and raised an eyebrow at her, her mouth formed into an 'oh', although she didn't make any discernable sound. He forced himself not to look away as he shook the salt over it. "Now what?" he whispered.

She took his hand and turned it over slowly in hers, fumbling with the button at his cuff and then hitching up his sleeve. She twitched her eyebrows at him, and then lowered her tongue to his skin.

He shivered. All of a sudden he was glad he hadn't gone for anywhere more drastic.

The salt on his wrist sparkled slightly in the dim light of the kitchen, and he watched it, oddly fascinated by the tiny darts of light that glittered up at him. "Now," she said, her voice low and smiling, "it's just like we did it before. Ready?"

He nodded, and she raised an eyebrow at him rather disbelievingly as she offered him her wrist. She held his a little closer, swaying since she didn't have a free hand to prop herself up with anymore. "One, two, three," she said, slowly.

Remus wasn't quite sure if his skin under her tongue of hers under his was the more distraction sensation, but either way it was only when she reached for her glass that he remembered he was supposed to be doing the same. He knocked his shot back and then bit into his lime, shaking his head vigorously at the taste. She laughed, and he did too, although he wasn't entirely sure why. She shifted a little closer, tipping forward – he wasn't entirely sure intentionally – and resting her head on his shoulder. He sniggered at her, and she looked up at him, grinning at him from the crook of his neck. "How did I do?" he said.

"Very good," she replied.

"Thank you."

"And you do have very comfy shoulders," she murmured. He sniggered rather drunkenly.

She rested against him for a moment, and then, with some apparent considerable effort, she eased herself back up and re-filled their glasses, pinching her tongue between her lips as she concentrated on pouring, licking her fingers when she dribbled some on them. "Well," she said, "now you've got the hang of it, how about we try somewhere a bit more adventurous?"

He wondered if he'd ever been asked a more dangerous question.

* * *

_Fifteen shots for Remus, five with weird lime and salt additions – two quite pleasant, one quite unpleasant, one utterly delightful owing to licking salt off Tonks' delicate wrist, one absolutely terrifying, owing to licking salt off Tonks' neck whilst having her do the same to him._

They both sat back. Remus wondered if he looked as startled as he felt. He idly wondered if she'd been able to feel his racing pulse as her tongue passed over the vein in his neck.

That had been….

Well, that had been….

* * *

_Minutes lost to startled silence and drunken grinning: two and a half._

"Where to next, Professor?"

Remus swallowed. He hadn't the faintest idea what to suggest, and he felt his grin take a turn for the distinctly sheepish.

"Are you hairy?" Tonks asked, gesturing vaguely to his body with a limp-wristed wave. Remus blinked, trying to clear his head. He wasn't sure what that had to do with anything.

"What?"

"Well," she said, leaning forward conspiratorially, steadying herself with one hand on his thigh, "I was going to suggest stomachs – because that's always fun, but…. Are you?"

"Only once a month," he said, his mouth having apparently decided to answer the question without involving his brain. Tonks laughed.

"Game?" she said, raising her eyebrows at him.

His skin prickled. He couldn't be sure – because he'd had far too much to drink to be sure of anything other than that he'd had far too much to drink – but he thought that she was looking at him differently, as if she was just a little bit impressed with his actions so far.

He studied the stone floor for a moment, taking in the chill it cast on his fingers before raising his eyes back to hers.

"Always," he said.

* * *

_Seconds lost to pondering if this was a really bad idea or a really, really, good one: ten._

Tonks settled back on the floor, grinning at him encouragingly, and Remus slowly hitched her shirt up a little, exposing a decent, but not inappropriate, work area above her belt and just over towards her hip. She shivered as his fingers brushed her skin, and he wondered if she was ticklish, or if it was just the chill of the floor on her exposed back.

From what he could see, she really did have a very nice stomach.

He considered his options for where to put the salt.

"Not going to chicken out are you?" she said, startling him out of the trance he'd apparently been in. He wondered how long he'd been staring, since marking the passage of time had been the very lowest of his brain's priorities.

"Certainly not. I'm a Marauder, remember?" he said, and she laughed. He watched her stomach bob up and down for a moment, and then he settled on her hipbone, having decided that if he was only going to do this once, he might as well make it count.

As he sprinkled on the salt, the fantastic ridiculousness of the situation seemed to dawn on him, and he laughed, scrambling across the floor to bring his lime and shot glass closer.

"I thought you were more mouse than Marauder these days?" she said.

"So did I," he said, his surprise at his own actions evident in his voice as he lowered his mouth to her skin. "Apparently not."

* * *

_Sixteen shots for Remus, six with weird lime and salt additions: two quite pleasant, one quite unpleasant, one utterly delightful, one absolutely terrifying and one…well, one that he thought probably defied description. _

Remus thought he probably shouldn't think about Tonks' stomach too much, or what he'd just done to it, especially when she had him pinned to the floor by his hips and was untucking his shirt.

He held his breath as her tongue passed over the skin next to his bellybutton, waiting until she'd bitten her lime to let out the sigh he'd been battling for minutes. Her giggle drifted up from his stomach, where she was apparently resting her head. Not that he minded; there was something comforting about the feel of her skin on his.

He expected her to move away, but rather than doing that, she pulled herself up his chest and settled there, looking down at him with a rather cheeky smile. She bit her lip, and their breath mingled as they laughed. He felt his hands settle on her waist, half-wondering why it didn't feel odd to have them there. "This is a very silly game, Tonks," he said.

"And here I was, just about to say something nice to you," she said, shaking her head at him.

"I take it back, then," he said, intrigued. "This is not a very silly game _at all_."

She chuckled, and the vibration of her laugh went right through him. "What were you going to say?" he asked, barely registering the circles his fingers were stroking against her skin beneath her shirt.

"Just that you've got a very lickable stomach," she said, nodding once, very seriously. He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Is that a good thing?"

"Well that depends," she said, "on whether you liked having it licked or not."

"Hmm," he said, desperately battling the urge to laugh. "I suppose it does."

She rolled her eyes. "Never a straight answer," she said. He blinked with rather drunken confusion.

"Did you ask me a question?" he said.

She rested her elbow on his chest and attempted to prop herself up on her hand, missing it twice before finally managing to catch her chin with the heel of her hand. "It was implicated," she said. He tried desperately not to laugh.

"Implicit?" he said, although he felt that his answer would, indeed, have been implicating. She frowned.

"Yes," she said, pouting a little. "That's what I said."

He let out a soft amused snort at her indignation, and she raised her eyebrows at him as if she was still very much expecting an answer. "I did like it," he said, "so I suppose it's a good thing you think it's lickable. Even though that's not a real word." She gave him a quick admonishing glare. "Sorry," he muttered through a chuckle.

"Good," she said, grinning. "And since you're being all – " she took a deep breath as she tried to find the right word, puffing out her cheeks and then letting it out as a long sigh as she thought, " – not quite as infuriating and gitish as you usually are – "

He took the opportunity to look a little mock-offended, but she just giggled at him. " – I think I should make the most of it," she said. He wondered what on earth she meant and offered her a rather worried frown. She rolled her eyes at him. "Don't panic," she said. "I'm just going to ask you the teensiest little question."

"Oh," he said. He wasn't particularly reassured, but he didn't really feel up to protesting.

"Do you still think I'm adorable when I'm drunk?" she said.

The thought flashed through his mind that that was an infinitely more dangerous question than the one about where he wanted to put the salt, and really didn't qualify for use of the word 'teensiest'. There was nothing teeny about it.

For a second he contemplated lying or trying to dodge the question, but he found he really didn't want to. He avoided her gaze, and smiled slightly. "I think you're adorable all the time," he said quietly, and for a second his breathing felt oddly constricted.

"Really?"

He grinned and met her eye, sniggering a little. He just couldn't resist it. "No," he said. She glared at him, even though she was laughing too, and then freed her hand from underneath her head and swatted him on the shoulder, quite hard in her drunken enthusiasm. He winced, shying away from her hand as he laughed.

"Are you lying?"

He slid his hand up to her neck, playing with the ends of her hair as he eased her face closer to his. "Yes," he said.

"Git."

Before he could over-think things or talk himself out of it, he lifted his head a little and brushed his lips over hers. It was just the briefest flutter of a kiss – he thought he probably could've passed it off as a friendly gesture, were it not for the fact that they both knew it wasn't, and had she not have had him pinned to the floor underneath the kitchen table.

He pulled away just far enough to look into her eyes, to see what she thought. He thought she was smiling, although she was so close it was hard to tell. "You kissed me," she said.

"Yes. Glad you noticed."

"Don't girls normally notice when you kiss them?" she said.

"Well there have been a few occasions…." he said, adopting a look of entirely mock anguish. "I'd prefer not to talk about it."

She sniggered, and his chest fluttered. Why had he never noticed how much he liked to make her laugh?

"What happened to your whole full control of your faculties thing?" she said softly. He smiled slightly at the way she'd stumbled over the words.

"The brain cells that think that are lolling about pissed somewhere," he said, waving his hand dismissively, even though he couldn't remember ever feeling less dismissive about anything. "I daresay they'll be very cross with me in the morning. Give me a good telling off, one of those headaches that makes you feel like there are hippogriffs tap-dancing on your cranium."

Her eyes widened as if she was genuinely concerned for him, rather than just playing along, and he couldn't help but feel a little twist in his chest at how endearing that was. "What'll you do?" she said.

"I'll tell them that it's their own fault for getting pissed and leaving the rest of me to my own devices," he said.

She considered him for a moment, and his eyes roved her face, trying to figure out what she might be thinking. He drew a blank.

And then, she grabbed his face and crushed her lips against his, making her thoughts entirely apparent.

For a second he was too surprised to do anything.

But only for a second.

He kissed her back, slipping his fingers into her hair and pulling her closer. He couldn't quite believe it was happening. He accepted it as he would have a dream about broom-less flying or an eternal moonless existence – it couldn't be real, and therefore he could do anything he wanted, as the normal rules that would stop him from doing it didn't exist.

The kiss grew slowly deeper, and she tasted of tequila. He supposed he must too. She was infinitely more intoxicating than the drink, though. She made his head spin and his legs go weak and if he hadn't been lying down he thought that he probably would've toppled over.

She ran her fingers gently over his jaw, and he realised that he really _was_ kissing her, that, unreal as this felt, this wasn't some day-dream or idle thought-inspired fantasy. The lips moving over his were real, the hair beneath his fingers was real, the sensations…. He swallowed. They were all too real.

"This is probably a very bad idea," he said, murmuring the words between kisses, not sure whether he really meant them or not.

"Uh-huh," she said, nodding, even though the way she was taking his lip between hers seemed to indicate she thought otherwise.

"We're very different," he muttered, and she pulled back just a little.

"Well you are an emotionally-crippled wan– "

"Evasive," he said, steering her lips back to his. "Don't forget evasive."

She let out a soft snigger against his lips. "You're an emotionally-crippled, _evasive_, wanker," she said, holding his face in place and pressing her lips back to his.

"And you're annoyingly chipper," he said, returning the kiss with just a touch more pressure.

"And you're _very_ boring," she purred, shifting down a little to kiss his neck. He chuckled, wondering if the word 'boring' had ever sounded sexier. "And far too sensible. And a little bit stuffy. And a total git."

"And _you_ never know when to be quiet."

She pulled away, open-mouthed with indignation. Her eyes swept over him and her hands on his shoulders appraisingly. "I suppose you want me to let you go, then," she said.

"Actually, no," he said, tightening his grip on her. She looked a little startled, and he grinned, rolling her over. She let out a surprised giggle as he settled against her, pinning her to the floor.

"I thought you thought I was annoyingly chipper?" she said, wide-eyed but grinning.

"I do. You are."

She offered him an adorable puzzled frown. "But, well…." He trailed off, lightly stroking her neck with the very tips of his fingers. "You see – " He paused to follow the path his fingers had taken down her throat with kisses, and then traced a new one back up again to her ear. He lowered his voice to little more than a flirty whisper, breathing his words against her hair. " – it does appear that – " He kissed his way along her jaw and back to her lips, and then met her eye. He tilted his head down, peering up at her through his lashes as he raised one eyebrow. " – I do fancy you just a little bit after all."

She smiled and bit her lip. "Oh," she said. He returned his lips to hers earnestly, and this time, neither of them could think of anything that needed saying.

The intensity of it all took him a little by surprise, although he wasn't entirely sure why. He ran his hand down her side and pulled her closer, enjoying the sensation of her wrapping her arms around his neck and running her hands through his hair nearly as much as he was enjoying having her body moving against his.

He was just wondering where this could possibly be leading – or more precisely, if it was wise to let it lead where he thought it was leading – when the door opened. They both stopped, but springing apart didn't really seem an option. Tonks' hands drifted out of his hair, and he removed his hand from where it had been – toying with the place he'd put salt earlier. Remus peered out into the kitchen, even though he knew who it was.

Sirius' bare hairy legs and the hem of his red dressing gown met his eyes.

"Not interrupting anything, am I?" Sirius said. Remus shot Tonks a guilty and embarrassed glance, and she covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a giggle.

"No," Remus said, grimacing at Tonks, painfully aware that their bodies were still pressed together and telling an entirely different story. She bit her lip and laughed a little, her eyes sparkling at him and making his insides do things they hadn't done in quite a while.

He lifted himself off her and sat up, smacking his head on the table. Tonks giggled, and pushed herself more upright, leaning on her elbows. He rubbed his head.

"So what have you two been up to?" Sirius' voice said from above, his toes wiggling at them in what Remus interpreted as either a deeply amused or annoyed way.

"We were just – " Remus started. He looked desperately at Tonks, who shrugged and grinned.

"Yes?" Sirius said, tapping his foot at them.

"We were – " He gestured at Tonks for support, for some lie that would explain what he was doing trapped under a kitchen table in the small hours of the morning with a woman he'd vehemently denied fancying who was half his age and also his best friend's cousin. " – looking for something," he said, wincing at his own lame excuse.

Sirius's legs crossed the kitchen, and Remus heard a tap running and a glass filling. Then Sirius' legs came back and his knees stared at him accusingly. "Did you find it?"

"Er – " Remus screwed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead. "Not yet," he said. It was the best he could come up with under the circumstances.

"Well carry on, then," Sirius said, his feet turning away and heading for the door. "Although if I may make a suggestion, unless it's teeth you're searching for, you might want to look somewhere other than each other's mouths."

The door swung closed behind Sirius, and Remus blinked a couple of times and then ran his hands over his face. It didn't have much of a sobering effect, although Sirius' appearance certainly had. "And the award for World's Worst Timing goes to…." Tonks said, before dissolving into a fit of giggles.

"Quite," Remus said. He gestured to the rest of the kitchen. "Shall we?" Tonks nodded.

He crawled out from underneath the table, and when she followed, clutching the bottle, he offered her a hand up from the floor. He pulled her to her feet and they both staggered a little. He rested against the table for support, and she grabbed the back of one of the chairs, swaying slightly.

He didn't have the faintest idea what he was supposed to do or say next – he looked to Tonks for some indication, but she was just grinning, and he couldn't work out if it was a shy grin, or just a drunken one. He thought his own expression might be something along the startled rabbit line.

* * *

_Minutes passed in uncomfortable silence: three and three quarters._

His hands seemed as if they should have something to do, and his brain was whirring with a whole lot of nothing in particular, like a demented spinning top. He wondered how, when barely a few minutes ago he was lying on top of this woman, now, he couldn't think of a single thing to say to her, how he could suddenly feel so awkward.

Unless, of course, he reasoned, it was the fact that he'd been lying on top of her that was causing his brain the problems. He thought that that was probably it.

"So," she said.

"So…." he echoed.

* * *

_Minutes passed in even more uncomfortable silence: two and a bit._

"Well," she said. "I should probably go home."

"Yes," he said, relieved that she'd finally said something. "And I have to go upstairs so Sirius can kill me for molesting his cousin."

"I'll say goodnight, then," she said, turning away. She dropped the bottle onto the table, fiddling with the label for a moment.

"Ok," he said. "I'll – er – see you out."

They staggered to the front door together in silence, and then out onto the street.

* * *

_Minutes passed in palpably excruciating silence: one and a half._

Tonks pulled her jacket closer to her and rubbed at her arms. He thought that she was probably waiting for him to say something, or maybe do something, although he didn't have the faintest idea what.

* * *

_Toes curling with embarrassment: ten._

He wondered if he should kiss her again, if that's what she wanted, but in the end he left it too long, and the tension he'd created was so unbearably thick the distance between them seemed insurmountable.

* * *

_Minutes spent wishing for the swift release of sudden death: two._

Tonks sighed and rolled her eyes. "Look," she said, "I'm as much of a fan of the uncomfortable silence as the next man, but this is ridiculous. If I wait long enough, are you going to say something or shall I just go home?"

Remus let out a soft, amused snort. She really was arresting company. "I do want to say something," he said, "I'm just not entirely sure what. I'm open to suggestion."

She laughed, which seemed like progress. "You could tell me you had fun," she said.

"I'd have thought that was evident," he said.

"Yeah well," she said, glancing up at the sky. "Sometimes people like to hear the things you think are evident."

His lips twitched in amused embarrassment, and she met his eye, staggering slightly on the spot. He wondered what it was that he thought he had to lose, and then took a quick fortifying breath. "When we've both sobered up a bit," he said, "if I asked you out, do you think you'd say yes?"

"Probably," she said, offering him a rather mischievous smile. "I'd have thought that was evident."

He grinned, and she shoved him slightly on the shoulder. He took a steadying step back, and she considered him for a minute. Then she smiled rather shyly, and shrugged. "Well, goodnight, Remus," she said, and then turned.

"Goodnight," he said, not even knowing if she'd heard before she Disapparated.

He stood looking at the spot where she'd been for a moment, and then went back to the kitchen, where the remains of the tequila winked at him from the table as he stumbled to the sink to pour himself a glass of water.

"I don't know what you're laughing at," he said to the bottle. "This is all your fault."

He lurched up the stairs to his room, grinning like an idiot and spilling most of his water down his front, and was just about to open the door when Sirius's voice boomed through the night. "Are you alone, Moony?"

Remus rolled his eyes as Sirius cackled hysterically. "I really didn't know you had it in you!" he chortled.

Well that makes two of us, Remus thought, and slipped into his room, just catching Sirius calling him a sly old dog.

* * *

**A/N: Well, one down, one more chapter to go. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and anyone putting finger to keyboard for this one gets a recently salted werewolf to do with as they will ;). **


	8. In The Morning

Remus lay face down on the bed, groaning quietly to himself.

He'd made the effort and got up and dressed, but as he was making his bed he'd decided that he really didn't feel up to being upright after all, and had collapsed on top of the rumpled duvet.

And he hadn't moved since.

As he lay, his head throbbing and his stomach lurching, he was at least glad that he hadn't gotten as far as opening the curtains. He let out a low, plaintive moan, and then stopped, realising that that was doing nothing to placate the hippogriffs tap-dancing on his cranium. He lay, enjoying the quiet for a moment, and allowed his mind to form the thought that had been bubbling under the surface since his eyes had first flickered open and jolted him into, as it turned out rather ill-advised, action.

What on earth had he been doing drinking tequila with Tonks?

Part of him wanted to leap in with the answer that he had, in fact, been having the most fun he'd had in years, while the rest berated him for thinking any such thing, trying to convince that part of him that thoughts along those lines were deeply unhelpful and would lead to nothing but trouble.

And when his mind wandered to the things he'd done under the table with Tonks….

He wasn't entirely sure it had really happened.

It seemed too fantastical to be real, and he couldn't help thinking that the most likely scenario was that the whole thing was some drunken fantasy his brain had cooked up during his all too brief slumber to torment him. He couldn't imagine for a second what someone like Tonks would be doing under a table with someone like him.

He slowly tried to piece together the evidence, collect the scattered thoughts and memories he had from the night before, but his brain wasn't really up to the task – squashed, he thought, by the hippogriffs delicately balancing on his brow – and all he could really think about was her.

Remus was vaguely aware of a knock on the door, and grumbled a reply that sounded entirely non-committal into the duvet.

The door creaked as it swung open, and he heard footsteps, and then the bed moved, and someone settled next to him with a moan. He could only think of one likely candidate. "Tonks?" he said.

"Uh huh."

"Just checking," he said. "I didn't want to have to lift my head and see."

"That bad?" she said, her voice slightly muffled.

"Worse," he muttered. He felt Tonks shift a little closer, her arm nudging his as she settled. "Make yourself at home, by the way," he said, and she laughed softly.

"I came up to tell you I've got the rota for next week," she said. "But your bed looked so comfy…." She let out a loud groan, and he sniggered.

"How's your head?" he said.

"What was it you said?" she said. "Hippogriffs tap-dancing on your cranium? That about sums it up." Remus let out a soft, amused snort. "You?" she asked.

"About the same," he said. "I haven't had a hangover like this since – " He stopped himself. "In fact," he said, "I don't think I've ever had a hangover quite as painful as this before."

"I'm a bad influence, then?" she said.

"Something like that," he said. "Although I always was ridiculously easy to lead astray."

He felt Tonks shift next to him and shifted in response, turning his face a little to look at her. She was curled up next to him, her head on her forearms, peering at him over the fuzzy black sleeve of her jumper. She looked adorable as ever, he thought. Maybe that was the drunken fantasy talking. "Say it with me," he said, and she raised her eyebrows at him.

"Say what?" she said.

"The mantra of the pitifully hungover. I am never, ever – "

" – drinking again," she said, eyes lighting up as she realised what he was saying, and they both chuckled quietly, before wincing a little reluctantly at the noise their mingled voices made. For a moment they just looked at each other, exchanging sympathy and something else entirely, some tentative admission, although he wasn't completely sure what it was or if he should trust it, if he wasn't just seeing in her eyes what he wanted to.

Remus smiled at her a little. "If I summon that bottle of hangover cure from the bathroom," he said, "will you sit up and catch it?"

"Go on, then," she said.

Remus fumbled in his pocket for his wand and cast the spell over his shoulder, and as Tonks sat up a little and caught the bottle he'd summoned, he experimentally chanced turning over and resting on one elbow. He conjured a couple of glasses, filled them with water and held them out to her with only slightly shaking hands. He took a moment to marvel at his own willpower.

"How many drops?" she asked.

"Two normally does it," he said, and watched as she added them. She raised an eyebrow at him, he supposed, in question about whether two would really be enough for how bad they were feeling, and he tilted his head thinking probably not, and then nodded briefly. Tonks smirked and added another drop to each of their glasses. She re-corked the bottle and dropped it onto his bed-side table, and he handed her a glass. "Cheers."

"Chin chin."

She clinked her glass against his, and they both knocked the potion back. Tonks covered her mouth with her hand and retched, and he barely resisted doing the same as he vanished the glasses. "That stuff is vile," she said, letting her mouth hang open as she grimaced at the taste.

"Does the trick, though," he said, shaking his head a little at the bitter aftertaste. "And I think we probably deserve it." Tonks raised an eyebrow of mild disagreement, and Remus closed his eyes briefly, waiting for the nausea to pass and the room to stop swaying.

After a few minutes, everything felt more real again, leaving him with just the vaguely unsettled feeling that Tonks – and having her next to him on his bed – was causing. It wasn't dissimilar to a hangover, actually – a slight lurch in his stomach, a slight nervousness that things could go spectacularly awry at any second. He pushed the thought aside and opened his eyes, to find Tonks' sparkling ones watching him. "Better?" she said, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Mmm. You?"

"Yep," she said quietly. "That stuff's vile, but genius."

Remus let his eyes wander over her face, taking in all the details of her expression. She seemed a little coy, a little uncertain, which sealed in his mind the thought that he had, in fact, kissed her, confessed that he did fancy her and kind of half-asked her out, because if he hadn't, there was no need for her to be either.

Unfortunately, knowing that the whole thing hadn't been some drunken fantasy made _him _feel coy and uncertain too, and silence seemed to stretch between them.

He almost wished he hadn't offered her the hangover cure, because at least when they were suffering they'd had something else to talk about.

"So," she said.

"So…" he echoed.

"Not that again," she said, rolling her eyes.

Remus couldn't resist it, even though he knew it was desperately childish. "You started it," he said. Tonks eyed him as if she was seriously considering sticking her tongue out at him.

"Did not," she said, with masterful mock-petulance.

"Did," he said, battling quite hard to try and stay on top of his urge to laugh.

"Did not."

"Did."

"Did not."

"Did," he said, finally giving in to a snigger.

"Conjure me something to throw at you," she said, and he laughed.

She raised an eyebrow at him, took out her wand and conjured a catapult, and then rooted in the pocket of her jeans for a missile. She found a couple of fluff-covered Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and loaded one, aiming it squarely at him. He raised his hands in surrender, laughing, and she squinted at him in consideration, and then grinned and vanished the lot.

He smiled to himself. Two months ago, he'd have been rubbing his temple against a bean-shaped bruise about now, and the fact that he wasn't seemed significant, somehow. He knew it was progress, but that didn't mean he had any idea what to do about it, and so he lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling for inspiration and folding his hands neatly together on his chest in the hope that it might make him feel more in control. He thought he heard Tonks take a deep breath, and then felt her lie down too.

He couldn't help feeling he'd gotten himself into a rather strange situation. "What were you going to say?" he said quietly. "I mean, earlier, after your 'so'."

He let his eyes flicker to hers, trying to read whatever it was that she was going to say before she had to say it, so he'd be prepared in case what followed her 'so' was something he didn't particularly want to hear. Her eyes were dancing with amusement, though, and he didn't think he could see any of the things he'd feared seeing in them, even though half of him still thought that was wishful thinking. "Nothing," she said, shrugging slightly. "I mean I didn't have anything planned. I was going to see what you said and take it from there."

"Oh," he said. "So it's down to me, is it?"

"Well you are the bloke," she said, her eyes making a quick pass over him. "Apparently," she added, twitching her eyebrows at him.

He couldn't resist a smile. "I suppose I am."

"Balls are in your court, then," she said, and he laughed heartily for a moment, before realising that it really was down to him, and if he wanted this, it was him who needed to make it happen.

Remus gazed up at the patch of mould on the ceiling – which he swore was eying him with contempt – and then took a deep breath. "Well," he said, meeting her eye. "I seem to have a vague memory about saying that when we were both more sober, I'd ask you out."

"Right," she said slowly. "I seem to have a vague memory about that too."

"Good," he said. "Glad I didn't imagine it." Tonks raised an eyebrow at him, her lip twitching in the effort of suppressing a smile.

"Do you do that often?" she said.

"What?" he said, turning his face to hers.

"Imagine things you might have done with me."

Her eyes were alive with inquisitiveness, and Remus pressed his lips together to keep from grinning. His immediate thought was that he should offer some kind of denial, but the truth was that he'd spent many a night lying in this exact spot imagining all kinds of things to do with her under the watchful gaze of the contemptuous mould.

At first, it had been things he wished he'd said, barbs he wished he'd sent her way, and he'd lay, silently ranting about how infuriating she was. At first. But slowly that had given way to something else entirely, something more to do with how he liked to infuriate her because she was adorable when she was infuriated, and being the person who got under her skin at least meant, for a moment, that he was the centre of her world.

"No," he said slowly, hoping the lilt in his voice would give him away. "You are always the very furthest thing from my mind."

"Good," she said, a knowing smile in her voice that he found rather pleasing, and he couldn't resist the twitch of his lips, even though he knew it gave him away more than the lilt in his voice had.

Tonks' eyes made a vague survey of his face, and her lips curled upwards in the briefest hint of a flirtatious, suggestive smile. "We both seem pretty sober now," she said, biting her lip a little.

"We do."

When he didn't say anything else immediately, she raised her eyebrows at him in expectation, he fancied, rather hopefully. "So are you going to?"

He knew that what he should say was yes, that he would be delighted to ask her out, but teasing her was always so much fun that, of course, that wasn't what he said at all. "I don't know," he said, raising an eyebrow at her, lowering his voice to a rather flirtier tone.

"No?"

"Well last night you said you'd probably say yes," he said. "But I was wondering. Was that just a drunken probably yes, or does it stand now the tequila's worn off?

"You want to know what my answer will be before you've even asked the question?" she said, her voice rising with amusement or irritation, he couldn't tell which.

"Emotionally-crippled wanker, remember?" he said. "You're lucky I'm not cowering under the desk and insisting on having this entire conversation by owl."

Remus watched Tonks' lips as they pressed together, desperately battling the urge to smile. "That's what you normally do, is it?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh I forgot," she said, rolling her eyes. "You hate talking about your sex life." He smiled sheepishly. "You know," she said, "you weren't nearly this shy last night when you got me drunk and snogged me senseless."

Remus looked away, trying not to grin at the words 'snogged me senseless' and the fact that someone – especially Tonks – would use them in connection with him. "I didn't get you drunk," he said, "you did that all on your own."

"So you're not disputing the other part, then?" He looked even further away, trying not to blush. "You really do hate talking about things like this, don't you?" she said.

"Yes," he said.

"But you don't mind doing them?"

He sniggered silently and the bed shook beneath them. "No," he said, chancing a glance back in her direction to find that she'd rolled onto her side to face him, and was a bit closer than she had been. "You really do enjoy watching me squirm, don't you?" he said, to take his mind off the impulse to reach up and trace the outline of her lips with his fingers, which, for some reason, had just become a desperately enticing idea.

"Hmm," she said, grinning. "So where are you going to take me?"

Remus' eyebrows leapt up, as startled as he was by her abrupt change in topic. "What?"

"If I say yes to you, where are you going to take me?"

Remus rolled onto his side to face her, propping his head up on his hand and noting, with interest, how close they were now. They weren't touching, but easily could, should the need arise. He tilted his chin down and then looked up at her, his mouth hitching into a half-smile. "Am I to take it that your answer will depend entirely on my choice of venue?" he said, and her eyes widened a little in mock-surprise that he'd say such a thing, and not a little amusement.

"I just think I should be able to make a – what was it you called it? Informed decision," she said, echoing his low, flirty tone.

"You know, that's really not very good for my ego," he said with huffiness he found it all too easy to feign.

Tonks laughed and then eyed him appraisingly. "I didn't realise you were so fragile," she said.

"Oh I am," he said, "very fragile indeed."

"Right," she said, rather disbelievingly. His eyebrows twitched entirely of their own accord, and he looked down at a crease in the duvet beneath her elbow. "How come?" she said quietly, ditching her flirtatious tone in favour of something rather more quiet and sincere.

Remus took a breath, drawing it in slowly, fully aware that he was playing for time and that she knew it. "Maybe I just can't imagine why you'd say yes," he said, and as he looked up and met her eye, his breath felt oddly heavy in his chest, "given that you think I'm boring and sensible and annoying."

"You are boring and sensible and annoying," she said.

"Thank you."

"But," she said, quietly, biting her lip and eyeing him impishly, "you're also kind of sexy."

Remus shifted his head a little so he could hide his mouth behind his fingers. He pressed them into his lips for a moment to keep from laughing out loud. "You think I'm sexy?" he said, when he'd mostly mastered himself, a little bit surprised how pleased he sounded. Tonks rolled her eyes and then looked away.

"I said _kind of_ sexy," she said.

He let her fester in her mild embarrassment for a moment, and then reached up and gently touched her cheek. She returned her eyes to his, peering at him with an expression that was both cheeky and shy and melted his insides. "Chinese," he said, barely able to let the word out through his grin. "I thought I'd take you out for Chinese." His fingertips lingered on her cheek for a moment, and then drifted to her jaw, easing her just a little closer.

"Perfect," she said quietly, leaning in the rest of the way.

As their lips met and a jolt of something a bit unexpected but not at all unpleasant shot through him, Remus thought it was a wonder his knees didn't give way. He was suddenly very glad he was lying down. He idly wondered if he'd ever be able to kiss her standing up, but for now, he really didn't care whether he would or not, he was just glad he was doing it now. He slid his fingers into her hair and pulled her closer, kissing her more insistently, and as he felt her respond with equal fervour he thought he might burst.

She murmured her approval against his lips and her fingers settled on his waist, giving him slightly tickly squeezes as he did something she liked. Remus tried to concentrate, to savour every second, every teasing, whispered sensation, every tingle through his body that her enticing lips produced, but she made it rather difficult to focus.

He was utterly lost. At first he thought he was just revelling in her kisses, or the way she ran her hands through his hair and down his neck, the exquisite sensation of her touch against his skin, but as the minutes past he realised that it wasn't one thing that he was revelling in – it wasn't her touch, or the way she tasted or smelled, or even her so much more than delicious kisses – it was just her.

He pulled away a little, feeling that he was probably sporting quite a dopey grin. "Is that a yes, then?" he said, but before he'd even finished uttering the words, she was pulling him back to her, pressing her lips against his.

"Uh-huh," she murmured, and returned his kiss enthusiastically. He slid his hand down her side to her hip, shifting closer, and he felt her smile against his lips as he gently pressed her back against the bed. "I knew getting you drunk would be a good idea," she said, and he moved away a little, kissing her neck slowly and drinking in the sensation of her skin beneath his lips. He was glad how intoxicating he'd found that hadn't been a figment of his drunken imagination.

"Did you?" he said, mumbling the words against her skin.

"Mmm."

"So you had all this planned out, then?"

"Oh yes," she said, winding her fingers into his hair and pulling his face back up to hers. "I'm very sneaky."

She captured his lips again, kissing him deeply and ardently, and he couldn't honestly say that he minded that, or her sneakiness.

As their legs tangled and their bodies moved, he eased them both onto their sides, his hand finding the place under her jumper it had abandoned hastily the night before, and he felt her fumble with the buttons on his shirt. Eventually she managed to get them undone, shifting so she could kiss his skin as she revealed it, and as she returned her lips to his he was powerless to do anything but whimper into her mouth. She slid her hands up and over his chest, and his insides quaked. "Your heart's pounding," she said, breathily. He pulled away a little, just far away enough to meet her eye and managed to wrap his befuddled mind around the idea of forming a sentence.

"Any particular reason it shouldn't be?" he said.

"No – just – you're normally so unflusterable."

He smiled at the thought that formed, and she made to return her lips to his, stopping when he said: "That's not a word."

"Yes it is."

"It's not," he said, quite impressed how insistent he sounded when correct vocabulary was the very last thing he cared about, and he was only arguing because he really did love it when she got infuriated with him.

"Is."

"Isn't."

"Is."

"Isn't."

"Is."

"Isn't."

Tonks let out a sigh that turned into a chuckle, and was just about the sexiest sound he'd ever heard, and raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you want to do the kind of thing people who fancy each other normally do in bed, or argue semantics?"

"Argue semantics."

She glowered at him playfully, and as he grinned, she gave him a shove back towards the bed, and leant in to kiss him, her eyes sparkling devilishly and never leaving his as she shifted on top of him. "Tough," she said, and as she fitted her lips against his, he could feel the curve of her smile. He kissed her back, and as he wrapped his arms around her, bringing her closer, he let out a groan that had absolutely nothing to do with his hangover.

* * *

Remus lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to bring his ragged breathing back under control. 

At one point, he thought he had actually seen stars.

Tonks lay on her back next to him, breathing heavily too, and the duvet moved as she stretched. He felt he should say something, although he hadn't the faintest idea what.

He said the first thing that came to mind:

"Bloody hell, Nymphadora. Where on earth did you learn to do that?"

Tonks chuckled breathily, and then rolled onto her side to face him, biting her lip and fixing him with a mischievous grin. "Hogwarts," she said. Remus made to get up, even though he was almost certain his legs, which had turned to a jelly-like consistency some minutes previously, wouldn't support him. "Where are you going?" she said.

"I must write to the headmaster immediately," he said, "to compliment him on the changes he's made to the syllabus since my school days."

She laughed and pulled him back onto the bed. He couldn't help but grin at her, and she returned his grin and then shifted to kiss him. His lips met hers, savouring the moment until she pulled away and nestled in the crook of his neck. He wrapped his arm around her, casually playing with the ends of her pink hair, and ever so slightly amazed at how easy it felt to be affectionate with her. "So would you still like to go out with me?" he murmured.

"Of course," she said, and he grinned.

"Is that just because now you know how ridiculously easy it is to get me into bed?"

"Yes," she said, sniggering quietly against his chest. Her hand dropped down to his waist and she snuggled closer.

Remus waited until he saw her eyes drift closed, biting his lip against his laughter. "Will you still respect me in the morning?" he said, and as her eyes sprang open she laughed and poked him admonishingly on the shoulder.

"It is morning," she said, settling back against him.

He waited just long enough….

"In the afternoon, then?"

Between adorable giggles, she somehow managed to choke out the word 'no', and he laughed. "Fair enough," he said.

"Now be quiet and let me go to sleep," she said.

"Tired?"

"Yes," she said. "_Somebody_ kept me up all night drinking tequila and insisting I lick bits of his anatomy."

Remus shifted down, turning to her and taking her face in his hand. "Well he sounds like a dreadful fellow," he said, stroking her cheek gently with his thumb, and she smiled.

"Oh he is," she said, easing herself closer and leaning in for a kiss. "He's a total, total git."

"But you like him anyway?"

"Apparently," she said, and as her lips met his, Remus thought that 'apparently' was probably his new favourite word.

* * *

**A/N: Well that, it appears, is that. The end.**

**Almost. Because, well, there's going to be a sequel. It's called Over The Moon, and if you want to know what happens next, keep an eye out or click the author alert button thingy. **

**Anyway, many thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and anyone who reviews this one gets a jelly-legged Remus of their very own to play with ;). **


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